
IPS 3535 
.E33 J8 
1911 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



JUMBUeS 

(I^e-jumbled) 



Jombles 

(Re- Jumbled.) 

Copyright, 1911, by William Lord Reed. 

(All rights reserved.) 



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JiJ/T\BU5 

(RE-JUMBLED) 
By 



Oceanic Publishing Co., 
23-25 East 26th St., New York City. 



t 



TO MY POET (?) GRANDSON. 

NOT quite so unpoetic as you deem 
us, 
O certis puer, "irritabile genus." 
True poet art thou, by that very sign 
Old Horace gave us rhyming, grandson 

mine. 
Your verses pleased us, and if that 

could be. 
Still more your charming versatility. 

W. W. L. 



TO MY POET GRANDFATHER. 

TO me your verse comes as paternal 
blessing — 
Altho' your "certis puer" had me 
guessing ! 
My Latin rode away upon a "pony" — 
The brand I use is dubbed by moderns 

"phony";— 
But this embryo bard indites for hire — 
"Unworthy scion of a noble sire" ; 
I must admit the truth, alas ! alack ! 
My Pegasus is but a livery hack ; 
And tho' my candor cost a kingly ran- 
som — 
Your old friend Horace never hired my 
hansom. 

W. L. R. 



Richmond Press Co. 
New York. 



Eo 
f[\y (Jraijdfatljer 
U/illia/n ll/ilb(^rforee Cord 



MAN IN FOUR SEASONS. 



BY w. -w. L. 



**fn Lauz voll Mufi^" Ac. 

In Spring camf flowers, 
With all the ehowors, 
And I was glad. 

Fierce Summer's beat 
Upon me beat, 

And I went mad. 

Soon Autumn came. 
With milder llame. 
And I was blest. 

Through Winter wild 
O lead thy child 
GodI to my rest. 



Copyright, 1905, by William Lord Reed. 



pi^E/l/TiBl^JE: 

(60 jm^i^s) 



•7s«:^ 



^r^HE majority of the verses in this vol- 
^^ ume appeared some years ago in the 
^ Pittsburgh Dispatch * and are now reprinted 
and pushed on the long-suffering public by 
request. 

They are dedicated to any one possess- 
ing patience to read them. 

Respectfully, 

Ike Author 






Page. 

The Spirit of Christmas 1 

Presdestination 2 

Christmas in the Heart 2 

The Land o' Love 3 

Toys 4 

Her Crowning Glory 4 

A New Year's Reverie 5 



tfwn 



and ^)ttt 



Down and Out 9 

"A Little the Worse for Wear" 10 

O Man! O Man! H 

Thoroughbred 12 

The Golden-Harnessed Mule and the Common- 
Garden Ass 12 

The Nazarene in Nineteen Hundred 13 

The Quack 14 

Where Is Your Heart? 15 

The Standard Greed 16 

Let Us! 16 

The Escape 17 

"The Goods" 18 

The Funeral of Imber 19 

A Home of Your Own 20 






The Heart of Humanity 22 

Perhaps 24 



Ji i^ to ^jtttile 



Violet Brown 27 

Pete's Baby 28 

Grown-up Folks 29 

Vice Versa 29 



(^oijtepts QDijtipded 



Page. 

Evolution 30 

Silas Simkins' Sleigh 32 

Criss-Cross 33 

Had I But Known 34 

''Williams" 35 

The Bohemian's Plaint 36 

Huckleberry Pie 37 

Since Baby Came 38 

Le Roi est Mort ! Vive Le Roi 38 

Song of the Surgical Ward 39 

Weary Willie 39 

In the Park 39 

"Out Behind the Moon" 40 

An "O" Ode 40 

A Friend in Need 41 

A Gossip's Epitaph 41 

The Milky Way 41 

An Ice Ode 42 

The Lost Chord 42 

Perplexing 42 

"Pork and " 43 

His Finish 44 

A Rondeau 44 

How're They Comin' with You ? 45 

In the Spring 46 

Retrospection 46 

But I'm Not 47 

'S Love 48 

If 49 

Mary's Lamb 49 

Willie's Rubaiyat SO 

"Listen to My Tale of Woe" 51 

The Bluff 51 

The Married Man's Opinion 52 




A Picnic Poemlet 55 

The World and a Woman 56 

A Wish 56 

A Toast 57 

Tilly's Hair 57 

And He Didn't 57 

Silence Gives Consent 57 



Qopteijts C^optiijtied 



' Page. 

A Memory I Remember 58 

When Love Is Dead 58 

Wanted— A Wife 59 

Golf— As Susie Plays It 59 

Marjorie Mine 60 

Fairest Flowers 60 

Love 61 

The Trained Nurse 62 

Persistence 62 

Break, Break — Broke ! 63 

Some One 63 

Love's Awakening 63 

May — Expensive May 64 

To a Kentucky Belle 64 

The Maid and the Man 64 

Two Pairs of Eyes 65 

Love's Day 65 

That Old Coat Sleeve of Mine 66 

An Impression on an Old Coat 67 

In the Fall 67 

Love's Inventory 68 

The Winner 68 

Our Castles in Spain 69 

Only a Kiss 70 

Kisses 70 

At Duquesne Garden 71 

Somebody Loves Me 71 

A Reflection 72 

The Lost Love 72 

Something About Her 73 

Then and Now 73 

When She Said "Yes" 74 

Tell Me Truly, Tilly 74 

How Gossip Goes 75 

To "The Three of You". 76 



jjef j)t[i[atnin 



Jes' Dreamin' 79 

Did You Ever Stop to Think? 80 

What's the Use? 81 

The End of the World 82 

Jes' Satisfied 82 

The Old, Old Days 83 



^opteijts C^oijtiijaed 



Page, 

"What's the Use o' Anything?— Nothin' " 84 

Bubbles ; 85 

The Last Word... : 86 

Man's Wants ! 86 

An Old Coal Fire 87 

Did You? 88 

The Length and the Breadth 88 

The Old Mill Pond ,. 89 

Sufficient 90 



M^rmafh 



Trailing Arbutus 93 

The Philosopher 94 

"The Real Things" 95 

The Soldier's Wife 96 

Love's Dwelling 97 

The Smile of a Mother 98 

Pennsy's Fighting Tenth 99 

A Warning to the Tenth 100 

That Old-Fashioned Whistle 101 

The Man with the Light 102 

Gone! 103 

A Grave 103 

A Lullaby 104 

The Messenger 105 

To a Pair of Glad Eyes 105 

"O Mother Mine— My Own!" 106 

Harriet 107 

Good-by ! Good-by ! 108 

Lillies 'Round the Cross 108 

"Non Hodie, Sed Semper" 109 

The Things I Used to Know 110 

Goshen Ill 

Little Girls o' Goshen ! 112 

Old Age 112 

Old Wine! Old Clothes! Old Friends!............ 113 

A Clown to His Dog 113 

Spring 114 

The Men Behind 115 

As Age Creeps On 116 

Doctor Bull 116 

Death Victorious 117 

Love's Garden 118 

Just a Word 119 



(Lhrt's^m&s 



THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS. 

THE Spirit of Christmas, its wide 
wings outspread, 
Hovers over the land from the 
sea to the sea; 
And I, in the knowledge, with humbly 
bowed head, 
Kneel and pray that its peace may 
descend upon me. ,i 

The Spirit of Christmas ! Awake td> 
the thought! 
Cast out every shadow of sorrow or 
sin. 
Rise up ! Sad and weary one, care- 
overwrought. 
Throw open thy heart that its light 
may shine in. 

Throw open thy heart and wide open 
thy door 
To the lowly and lone, to those sadder 
than thou ; 
The path of the Christ ever led to the- 
poor — 
From Bethlehem's star to the thorn- 
circled brow. 

The poor and the needy, the lowly and 
lone, 
The sad and disheartened, the halt 
and the blind; 
For many a sin thou may'st swiftly 
atone 
By a grasp of the hand — by a word 
that is kind. 

The Spirit of Christmas ! Come, lift up 
thy voice — 
Let our song swell the chorus angelic 
above ; 
Let our souls soar aloft and together 
rejoice 
In the spirit of light, merry laughter 
and love. 

And to you, on love-laden pinions, I 

oray 
May God speed the Spirit of Christmas; 

to-day. 



PREDESTINATION. 

'HE little toy soldier stood on the 
shelf, 
Talking away to his little tin 
self— 

"Tho* my coat's red paint and my 

trousers new, 
I'm certainly feeling an indigo blue — 

To-day I'm worth money — but life's no 

joke — 
The day after Christmas I'm bound to 

be — broke." 



CHRISTMAS IN THE HEART. 

THERE'S Christmas in the faces of 
the people that we meet, 
There's Christmas in the toy- 
loaded windows on the street. 
There's Christmas in the laughter of the 

bundle-burdened throng. 
As with a Christmas greeting they go 
hurrying along. 

And if, perchance, your Christmas isn't 
all that it should be — 

With a home of Yuletide youngsters 
making merry 'round a tree; 

If your Christmas gifts have somehow 
been sidetracked along the way. 

And all you have's the memory of a by- 
gone Christmas day; 

Let your lips still sing the anthem, 

"Peace on earth, good will to men" — 
Lift your soul above your sorrow — let 

yourself be borne again 
On the spirit wings of Christmas from 

your dead ideals apart. 
And your Christmas will be Christmas 

if there's Christmas in the heart. 



THE LAND O' LOVE. 

THE Land o' Love lies o'er the lea— 
Thro' shoals of Self in you — in 
me; 
Across the ocean of Discontent — 
Where waves of Care toss turbulent; 
On past the shores of Golden Dust — 
Over the mountains of Hate and Lust; 
In the violet valley of Hope and Trust — 
Lies the Land o' Love. 

In the Land o' Love a baby's eyes 
Laugh on the world in wonderwise; 
A baby's lips Hsp, soft and low, 
Baby words only mothers know; 
Bowed to earth is the Sire sublime — 
Baby limbs over "horsey" climb ; 
*Tis Spring, sweetheart, and the Sowing- 
time 

In the Land o' Love. 

In the Land o' Love the youth and maid 
Hand in hand stand unafraid; 
Lips to lips and heart to heart — 
All in all — from the world apart; 
Not 'neath the arc of heaven is room 
For the smallest, tiniest bit of gloom; 
'Tis glorious Summer, and Life's abloom 
In the Land o' Love. 

In the Land o' Love the father stands 
Wiping his brow with horny hands ; 
The mother smiles on the children 

there — 
Sturdy sons and a daughter fair 
Who croons in low voice, soft and clear, 
A song to a babe in the cradle near; 
*Tis golden Autumn and Harvest, dear, 
In the Land o' Love. 

In the Land o' Love the moon hangs 

low, 
As hung in dead years long ago 
The jewel of Peace in God's diadem — 
The star o'er the stable in Bethlehem. 
In the firelight's glow two white heads 

nod — 
Dreaming of rose-strewn paths long 

trod; 
*Tis Winter now, and the Peace of God 
In the Land o' Love. 

The Land o' Love lies o'er the lea — 
Thro* shoals of Self in you — in me; 
Across the ocean of Discontent — 
Where waves of Care toss turbulent; 
On past the shores of Golden Dust — 
Over the mountains of Hate and Lust; 
In the violet valley of Hope and Trust- 
Lies the Land o' Love. 



TOYS. 

CHRISTMAS with its joys and toys 
Was only meant for little boys ; 
Their's to wake on Christmas 
morn — 
Heedless of the Child-Christ born; 
And with merry laugh and play 
Greet the gladsome Christmas day. 

But when sleep her wings has spread 
Over each tired, tousled head; 
Toys forgotten, broken, gone — 
Only dreams until the dawn; 
Then perhaps we grown-ups may 
Give a thought to Christmas day. 

What to us has Christmas been, 
Man to man — here deep within? 
Then the timely truth we read, 
Heedless of the Christ-Man's creed — 
We are only little boys 
Trading away each other's toys. 



HER CROWNING GLORY. 

* ' r> LORY ! Glory ! Glory !" 

yj Chants the choir this Christmas 
morn. 
"Glory! Glory! Glory!" 

On the whispering breeze is borne, 
And I echo "Glory, Glory !" 

For I'm watching, during prayer, 
All the glorious glory tangled 

Up in Effie's Titian hair. 

4 



A NEW YEAR'S REVERIE. 

AS \jre sit by the dying embers, 
At the close of the dying year, 
Dreaming of dead Decembers, 
Hopes dead, but to memory dear, 
From out the surrounding gloaming 

A ghastly gathering comes 
In time to a rythmic moaning — 

Like the beating of muffled drums ; 
And we sit and silently shudder 

At the hideous retinue, 
As slowly by file the spectral shades 
Of "the things we were going to do." 

Ye gods! will they never cease coming? 

Out, out from that corner dim ; 
The score of our failures sum.ming — 

This army of phantoms grim? 

Nay ! not 'til the deeds of the future 

Have buried the ghosts of the past, 
And the sum of the years shall compute 
your 

Debt unto life at the last ! 
So let us be up and be doing 

At the dawn of the century new, 
With a hopeful heart to accomplish a 
part 

Of "the things we are going to do." 



"iDov/r^ an^ 0^^" 



D 



"DOWN AND OUT." 

OWN and out! Yes, I guess that's 

me ! 
In fact, I haven't a sou-markee; 
The "glad hand" 's wrapped in a 

frozen mit — 
If there's "anything in it" I'm out of 
it. 
I'm down on my luck from the bird's- 
eye view 
Of those who, elated, look down on you : 
Out at the elbows and down at the 

heels, 
Yet o'er me a breath of contentment 
steals. 

I'm down to hard pan in this world's 

esteem — 
The world has views, I've but a dream; 
A dream that, perhaps, when all's been 

said, 
And done and spent and written and 
read. 
The Key to the Scheme will at last be 

found — 
To just turn the whole blame thing 
around. 
It's me to the Top when it's turned 

about ; 
Now, the Bottom for mine — just 
"down and out." 

Down — at the core of the heart of things ; 
And Out — of it soaring on spirit wings. 



"A LITTLE THE WORSE FOR 
WEAR." 

I WAS standing, talking, the other day. 
On a crowded corner in old Broad- 
way, 
To a chance acquaintance, of transient 

fame, 
When some one suddenly called my 
name 
With a "Hello ! old man, you're looking, 

fine"— 
And there was a dear old pal of mine ! 

Just a few words, and my friend was 
gone; 

Whirled in the maelstrom — a human^ 
pawn 
In the game — but the grasp of his wel- 
come hand 
Was a link in the chain back to God's 
own land. 

Then, said the chap who was standing 
there : 

"Your friend's a little the worse for 
wear." 

A friend — a little the worse for wear — 
That's what he was, and his big red' 
heart, 
Was worn as smooth as his threadbare 
coat 
By the pals of the past. He would 
ever part 
With — no ! not a half — but his last case- 
note 
For a friend — a near friend — or any old' 
bloat 
Who needed it more; and, as for Jim, 
Why, "the makin's" were always^ 
enough for him, 

"Down and out" he looked that day, 
But Jim never looked any other way. 
When the other fellow was down and" 

out 
Was the time you'd find him up and 
about. 
As for clothes — he was longer on legs 

than style, 
And broad on religious views and smile. 
In fact his smile and a whiskey-cough 



10 



Were the only things that would never 
come off. 

He hid a family somewhere or other — 
At a pinch he'd draw little drafts on a 
brother ; 
But he never mentioned his folks to 

me — 
The whole world seemed his family, 
Just all down-trodden humanity. 
All you needed to prove you were next 

of kin 
Was the appearance of being about all in. 
In sorrow or sickness, in want or care. 
When needed damned bad, he was al- 
ways there — 
"A friend — a little the worse for 
wear." 

"A little the worse for wear" — so, Bo, 
Let us do our "bit" in this burlesque 

show 
The best we can — just do it so 
That when we cross the Great Divide, 
Welcoming us on the other side 
We may find a Friend who will not care 
If we're found — a little the worse for 
wear. 



O MAN! O MAN! 

MAN! O Man! Humanity! 
What funny folk you seem to be 
When looked at from the bird's- 
view 
Of one who dares look down at you : 



o 



Your "summum bonum" seems to be 

Obtaining vast velocity, 
And circulating through the park 
Cooped up within a stuffy, dark 

Plush-cushioned box, blind and unseen 

In your "ten-thousand" limousine; 
All wrapped up in a fur-lined coat 
And your fool self, you little note 
This bench-sore bum has "got your 
goat." 

11 



THOROUGH-BRED. 

Miss Billyons has a brindle pup 
Who chews the costly curtains up 
And does from dainty china sup 

Till he is goodly full ; 
While in an alley in the rear 
Live little starving children, dear, 
Who envy in their hearts, I fear. 

Miss Billyons' brindle bull. 

Miss Billyons, though, is not to blame ! 
E'en if it may appear a shame 
That little children, sickly, lame, 

Should hungry go to bed; 
For class distinctions, sad but true, 
Give preference to blood that's blue — 
Though Miss B's but a parvenue — 

The pup is thorough-bred. 



THE GOLDEN - HARNESSED 
MULE AND THE COMMON- 
GARDEN ASS. 

'^/"^ OLDEN harness on a mule!" 

(Phrase ripe enough to pass) 
But still the golden-harnessed 
mule 
Bests the common-garden ass. 

An ass must ever be an ass; 

To bow beneath the rule 
And knuckle down before the frown 

Of the golden-harnessed mule. 

The ass — the fool tool of the mule — 
Provides the mule with hay; 

The ass, alas, can go to grass — 
The mule must have his bray. 

But, oh ! how cruel should the mule 

Mislay that harness golden ! 
As for the ass — he'll still have grass 

To Providence beholden. 

12 



THE NAZARENE IN NINETEEN 
HUNDRED. 

HE lived his life 'mid the crowding 
throng; 
Seeking the sunlight the glad day 
long; 
Bearing the lovelight the long night 

through ; 
Doing his own will and willing to do. 
Earning and spending and giving away — 
Caring for others, not what others say. 

His friends where the humble, the lowlv, 

the sad; 
The gay and the ribald, the good and 

the bad; 
The murderer, magdalene — sinner and 

saint — 
Preacher and poacher; He feared not 

the taint 
Nor the touch of his brother — the grasp 

of whose hand 
Was the sum of existence — Omnipotent 

planned. 

He asked — not a crust — but as good as 
he gave ; 

He gave what he had — and he looked to 
the grave 
As the gate of the soul. He awaited 

the call 
To stand face to face with the Cause- 
Of-It-All. 

Living, he sought the immersed and ac- 
curst of them, 

And learned but to love all the best in 
the worst of them. 

But he smiled a sad smile as the Pub- 
lican past 

In his gasoline go-cart — immoderately 
fast— 
With his sugar-fed "brindle" and 

panoplied wife 
And other spoilt spoils from the sur- 
plus of life. 

As adroitly he dodged the ill-fumed 
limouzine 

A soft sigh escaped the unknown Naz- 
arene : 

"Thank God, I cast in my lot with the 

rest of them — 
I certainly sure get the worst from the 

best of them." 



13 



THE QUACK. 

(A Chantecler Chortle of a Chicken.) 

IN the barnyard the poultry had long 
lived at peace; 
There were chickens and turkeys, 

ducks, guineas and geese ; 
All birds of a feather and, "fether" or 

not. 
They all flocked together, well pleased 
with their lot, 
With cackling and crowing and other 

bird talk. 
Till an old drake thought he was the 
CO ck-o f -the- walk. 

Tho* his gait was ungainly he looked so 
durn wise 

They never got on to the old boy's real 
size — 
That his brains were so cramped in the 

bones of his nut 
He thought his old waddle a cock -tur- 
key strut; 

When, failing to get all the pickings him- 
self. 

The rumpus he raised played the deuce 
with his health. 

For a conclave was called at the rise of 

the sun 
And a speech was demanded from each 
— every one 
Who felt, by his intellect, feathers or 

talk, 
Entitled to prene as the cock-of-the 
walk. 

The old turkey gobbled, the cock loudly 

crew : 
The guinea did something — I'll leave it 
to you ; 
The old gander hissed ; but, alas and 

alack ! 
The best the old drake did was "quack, 
quack, quack." 

They called it a draw 'tween the cock 

and the turk, 
Who both were good-fellows and split 
up the work : 
The gobbler looked wise and his tail 

proudly spread. 
While the rooster awakened Old Sol 
from his bed. 



14 



The rest of the poultry soon fell into 

line, 
But the old drake went into a saddened 
decline; 
And the unkind declare, since his dis- 
mal decease. 
That all who had honked to his quack 
were the geese. 

The moral concealed in this tale of the 
drake 

Is that there 's always an end to a fake. 
But of fakers there's no end : so, gos- 
lings, be shy 
Of wise-looking birds, for on you 
they've an eye; 

And as you grow older this truth you 
will note — 

That a Quack is a Quack and a Goose 
is "the Goat." 



WHERE IS YOUR HEART? 

SAY! where is your heart? 
That's the Question to-day! 
Is it still in your chest, or has 't 
drifted away 
Toward the glare of the gold — the 

mirage of wealth 
That is gnawing the core of our Na- 
tional health? 
Yes, friend, face the issue at once; do 

not mock — it 
'S the Question to-day — 

Is your heart in your pocket? 

"A fair deal — a square deal"; 

But who can be square 
With his hand on a lung if the heart 
isn't there ! 
Dollars? Why dollars are only the 

seeds 
To be scattered in Life's golden gar- 
den of deeds. 
So leave the mad scramble for silt to the 

rest ; 
Jab your hand in your jeans ! 

Keep your heart in your breast. 

15 



THE STANDARD GREED. 

We believe in one god, the Dollar 
Almighty, maker of heaven (?) on 
earth; and in squeezing twice each 
bright one in our hoard, which were 
born of the virgin gold; discovered by 
unconscious pirates, were crucibled, as- 
sayed and minted. They descended 
into the market, the third day rose 
again according to quotations, and get- 
teth into the right hand of John the 
Standard's almighty, from whence they 
shall not be budged by the quick or the 
dead. 

We believe in a holocaust of the 
wholly credulous people; the excom- 
munion of "ain'ts"; the forgiveness of 
"ins"; the subjugation of Lawson, and 
the Lie everlasting. All men — ? 



LET US! 

LET us lend and spend and give 
away, 
And die a pauper's death some 
day (?) 

Let us slave and save and pinch each 

cent, 
And who at last will care where we 

went (?) 

The rich man leaves all he was worth. 
While the poor man leaves this bloomin* 
earth — 

But his personal assets — his smile and 

his song — 
As far as I know, he takes them along.. 

16 



THE ESCAPE. 

TWO doctors "consulted" to find 
out the cause. 
But couldn't decide as to just 
what it was; 
Tho' 'twas certainly something, and 

something durn bad — 
And the patient was satisfied that's 
what he had. 

Two lawyers argued the "pro" and the 

"con"; 
Then drew up a will to still argue upon : 
"Bequeathed and devised" to divide with 

the heirs — 
And devised and designed so that they 

would get theirs. 

Two men of divinity strove to expound 
The "why" and the "whither," in phrases 

profound; 
Till the poor man, bemuddled by 

righteous intent, 
Died without caring a rap where he 

went. 



The glad soul, released from the cares 

of the clay 
And the "learn'd professions," quick 

faded away; 
But refused to ascend by the bright, 

golden stair 
To Heaven — for it didn't know just who 

was there. 



17 



"THE GOODS." 

THE "goods" is only a hybrid 
word, 
Coined by thieves, and it seems 
absurd 
That it should have place in our mother- 
tongue — 
Pied into print and in poesy sung; — 
But it has ! and the reason is just be- 

cause 

It's "the goods." 

The bullets whistle the hot air through; 
The Flag's in front, and the mausers, 

too! 
But to hell with them ! for the old Flag, 

there. 
Is leading the souls of boys who dare — 
And don't know fear from prickly heat — 
That's "the goods " 

The building's burning! — the ladder's 

ice ! — 
It isn't a question of "how" or "price" — 
Tho' the tongue is parched and the 

smoke chokes thick — 
The job's to be done, and done damn 

quick ! — 
And it is ! — that's all — but back of it all 

Is "the goods." 

It's the crucial moment; — a man must 

face 
The test supreme of power and place; — 
Love or duty? — wrong or right 
He must stand in Publicity's blinding 

light 
And front his God with his jaw shut 

tight; 

That's "the goods." 

Talk and type have greased the wheels 
Of the world so far; — but the knowl- 
edge steals 
Over us now that the time has come — 
The reveille of a distant drum — 
The red roll-call of the race of men — 
"The goods," by God! "the goods." 



18 



THE FUNERAL OF IMBER. 

(Ten thousand follow bier of Zion poet.) 

"User Marcus, who appeared with a 
contract in which he agreed to bury the 
poet when he should die in return for a 
poem, at first claimed the right to bury 
Mr. Imber." — New York Times. 

OH, feverish, struggling World to- 
day, 
Pause but a moment on thy way I 
Pause, not alone to bow the head 
In reverence to a poet dead, 
But pause to contemplate thyself, 
Immured, immersed in strife for wealth. 
Look, for a space, to higher things, 
Give thy unfettered soul its wings 
To rise above the money-mart; 
Be, for the nonce, thyself a part 
Of the great pulsing human heart. 
In spirit join the uncovered throng 
At a poet's grave — bought with a song. 



19 



A HOME OF YOUR OWN. 

BOY! Don't you realize the sum 
of it all? 
The prize beyond price on this 
money-mad ball 
Is not to be won in the stock-market's 

whirl — 
But is deep in the depths of the heart 

of a girl. 
It is not found in wealth nor in man- 
sions of stone; 
But is waiting for you in a home of 
your own. 

A home of your own, boy ! A heart that 

is true ! 
And you've got from your God all that's 

coming to you. 
Soft baby fingers around your own 

curled 
Are worth more than all the hard gold 

in the world. 
To a star hitch your wagon ! — to one 

star alone 
Shining clear in God's heaven — a home 

of your own. 



20 



THE HEART OF HUMANITY. 

I SING Humanity! 
Who said "all's vanity!" 
Who that has known all the 
breadth and the length of it? 
Born in sweet motherhood, dwelt in 

dear brotherhood; 
Nourished and reared by the grace and 
the strength of it? 

Laughed in the light of it, mourned 

thro' the night of it ; 
Who that has lived and been one and a 

part of it? 
Fought thro' the fears of it, wept with 

the tears of it; 
Who that has loved and learned all the 

great heart of it? 



I sing Humanity! 

I sing the Song of it ! 
First feeble child-cry; the throes of the 
dying ; 
All the great hurt of it, all the dull 
pain of it, 
All the wild grief of it, all the vain 
trying. 

And all the Joy of it! 

All the great Joy of it ! 
I sing the song of it, swelling and flow- 
ing ; 
Sweet joy of motherhood, flushed 
pride of fatherhood. 
Concord of brotherhood, all things be- 
stowing. 

I sing the Child! breathing there at the 
mother-breast ; 
Divine dependence; the joy of the 
giving. 
I sing the Youth! happy boyhood and 
girlhood ; 
All things unheeded save joy in the 
living. 

I sing the Mating; the young man and 
maiden ; 
All the sweet mystery, all the un- 
folding; 
All the wild bliss of it, rapturous kiss 
of it; 
All the white heat of the man in the 
molding. 



22 



I sing the Life of it! struggle and strit-^ 
of it; 
Toil and the sweat, the bent back and 
the Cross; 
Out of the depths, oh! the long weary 
steps of it; 
Oh ! the blind gulf 'tween the gain and 
the loss. 

I sing Success! all the height and the 
might of it; 
World-wide applause, and the con- 
queror's crown ; 
Fame's flutt'ring flame for a life's con- 
summation ; 
Power's isolation; the empty renown. 

I sing the Failures ! the bruised and the 
broken ones ; 
Brothers and sisters gone down in 
defeat ; 
Down to the gutter, the alley, the slum 
of it; 
Hear the low hum of it — Song of the 
Street. 

Bare in their nakedness, stript of all 
selfishness, 
Bright gleams the gold in dirt of the 
pan! 
Anguish and misery — merry in com- 
pany ; 
Glad in their brotherhood; here man 
to man. 

I sing the Tears of it ! 

All the long Years of it ! 
Sorrows and sins of it, joys and de- 
spairs ; 
Bleak hills and meadows, the sunshine 
and shadows, 
Christ and the Judas; the wheat and 
the tares. 

I sing Humanity! 

Song of the soul of me : 
Just to be one with it; one and a part 
of it! 
All the deep sob of it, all the tense 
throb of it; 
Oh, just to live and love! God! the 
great heart of it! 



23 



KNOW thyself and love thy fellow- 
men! 
Thus shall thou live thy full 
three score and ten ; 
To be well — do well — then the cool, 

sweet sod 
May yield to thee its secret of thy God. 



24 



"It <j Xo ^m(le." 



VIOLET BROWN. 

VIOLET BROWN, of Taylor stown. 
Was an ebony belle of wide re- 
nown; 
When she married a man by the name 

of Black 
(Whose mouth looked like a funny 

crack) ; 
An* her name was Violet Brown-Black. 

But Black he died one frosty night. 

An' the next on the list was a dude 
named White — 

A hot tamale an' a shinin* light; 

Then her name was Violet Brown- 
Black-White. 

Now, White fell in the creek one day, 

An' the angels bore his soul away; 

Then she married the parson, whose 
name was Gray; 

An* became Violet Brown-Black- White- 
Gray. 

But Gray soon left for realms serene, 

An' the last on the list was a coon called 
Green ; 

Which changed the name of this dusky 
queen 

To Violet Brown-Black-White-Gray- 
Green. 

Now, sad to say. poor Green died, too^ 
An' the 'riginal Violet grew blue ; 
Her husbands were all laid below, 
An' she's livin' now in Yellow Row 
With fourteen kids of ev'ry kind. 
Whose names would drive you color 
blind. 

There's Black kids there who are all 

brown ; 
An' a lot o* little Gray kids runin' roun*" 

With a lot o* little black kids who are 

White, 
An' Green kids just as black as night. 

It's the funniest fam'ly ever seen, 
For all of them are slightly "green"; 
Tho' off an' on they all get blue. 
The original shades are still there, too — 
They're all fast colors, every one, 
An' yet ain't warranted not to run. 



27 



Now, all these imps got fightin* like sin, 
An' the "Yellow Kid" next door joined 

in; 
An' you'd thought that you were full of 

dope 
If you'd seen that human kaleidoscope. 

For the Gray beat the Green kids black 

an' blue; 
An* the White an' the Black were 

bunged up, too; 
The Yellow Kid blacked a Gray kid's 

eye; 
I laughed till I thought that I would die. 

For the Yellow Kid now was a purple 

hue; 
An' to make things worse, Violet ran in, 

too. 
All their noses were runnin' red, 
An* a Gray punched a Green kid's little 

black head. 

Red, green, gray, black, white, yellow, 

blue. 
All mixed in a bunch, an* I'm mixed, 

too; 
So, if you can tell what I'm writin* 

about, 
Telephone the answer for my pipe's gone 

out. 



PETE'S BABY. 

(To "Pete" Eyler, on arriving in New 

York during the Hudson-Fulton 

celebration.) 

PETE'S baby ? Sure ! a regular child ! 
An' Holy Gee ! the town's gone wild. 

I just got in here yesterday — 
Saw all the warships in the bay — 
The warships of the whole darn world, 
With all their bloomin* flags unfurled ; 
Saw buntin' floatin' everywhere — 
A brand-new statue in Times Square — 
The Plaza all ablaze with lights — 
Bon-fires burnin' on the Heights — 
Soldiers all in brand-new suits — 
Guns a boomin' out salutes — 
Bands a playin' all aroun' — 
I thought — Gee Whiz ! what's struck the 

town? 
Then Phelan put me wise — oh, joy ! 
Pete's got a baby ! It's a boy ! 

28 



GROWN-UP FOLKS. 

GROWN-UP folks, it seems to me, 
Don't know nuffin*. 
'Er's lots of fings 'at 'ey could do 
'At's lots of fun for me an' you, 
An' fings 'at 'ey are 'lowed to, too — 

But 'ey don't. 
Wisht I wuz a man ; 
I'd show 'em. 

Grown-up folks kin al'ays do 

Jes' as 'ey please; 
'Ey could sled-ride when it snows, 
Make mud pies in 'eir Sunday clothes, 
Er do mos' anyfing, I suppose — 

But 'ey don't. 
Wisht I wuz a man; 

I'd show 'em. 

Grown-up folks don' have any 

Fun at all. 
*Ey could play at hide-an'-seek, 
Er go swimmin' in the creek. 
An' stay in, I guess, a week — 

But 'ey don't. 
Wisht I wuz a man; 

I'd show 'em. 

Grown-up folks don' have to do 

Anyfing ; 
Shoes 'ey doesn't have to wear, 
*Bout washin' 'er face don't have to care, 
An' never have to brush 'er hair — 

But 'ey do. 
Wisht I wuz a man ; 

I'd show 'em ! 



VICE VERSA. 

THE ghoulish kissing-bug glided up 
with a shiny, crawly creep; 
And its cruel eye did my features 
spy^ 
As I swung in the hammock, asleep. 

A sinister smile lit its fiendish face 
As my cherry-red mouth it spied; 

'Twas a terrible slip when it kissed my 
lip, 
For the bug swelled up and died. 

29 



"EVOLUTION." 

(The Tale of the Tell-Tale Tail.) 

OH ! for a day of the good old days 
When there were no family 
jars; 
No faults to find — no tales unkind — 

To worry this world of ours ; 
When nobody talked about others' af- 
fairs, 
Nor told of another's troubles; 
When tongues weren't all loose with 
their neighbors' abuse, 
And the only hot air was "bubbles" ; 
Oh ! those were the beautiful, peaceful 
days 
Of our family's first plunge — 
When Grandpapa was an oyster 
And Grandmama was a sponge. 

(With apologies to somebody.) 

Or a later day, on the old world's way 

Ten million years or so, 
When we first got into the regular swim, 

And were really "on the go" ; 
Tho' we flirted about, floating in and out 

Of seaweed woods galore, 
Not a tale was told of an act o'er bold — 

'Twould have probably proved a bore ; 
Those were as lovely and halcyon times 

As a family could wish — 
When Grandmama was an acaleph, 

And Grandpapa was a fish. 

Now in those days Grandpa had a tail ; 

But 'twas only a t-a-i 

Not at all the kind of a tale to tell 

(Even as you and I) ; 
And if a tale of the other kind — 

Or unkind — happened out 
Not a mussel moved 'til the truth was 
proved — 

'Twas a fish-story without doubt; 
Then our family grew equestrian — 

By astronomic law — 
And Grandpapa was a sea-horse, 

And a star-fish, Grandmama. 

(Another branch of our family, 

Who had never cared for the sea, 
The branch that lived in the branches 

Of our very first family-tree, 
Also carried tails, or their tails carried 
them — 

You can figure yourself if you wish — 
I more incline to my Mother's line, 

That came from the family Fish. 
The monkey side don't appeal, of course, 

In a chap's genealogy — 
When Grandpa was a gorrilla 

And Grandma a chimpanzee.) 

30 



Now alorrg' in -a 'billion years or so 

The tail Grandfather wore 
When he was a fish reappeared again 

On a beautiful maid at the shore; 
It was Grandmama's fin-ish — (joke) 

A most enchanting tail — 
An Ella Wheeler "Guide to Girls"— 

That could be used as a sail; 
It was Grandpa's "finish," too — 

*Twas the hither end he saw — 
The "peach" on the beach was a mer- 
maid. 

And a centaur^ Grandpapa. 

At this time talk became prevalent — 

We're suspicious, I fear, of the dame; 
*Twas perhaps in the air, but the fact 
remains bare 
That it got here just the same; 
And with the advent of maids and talk 

Came tales of another kind 
Than the ones our race had lost before 

And now again wore behind. 
With the girls talking horse with the 
horse-men, of course 
All else was about the weather ; 
^ Still the gods thought it best to give 
mankind a rest, , 

And eliminate ta(i)les altogether. 

''So the Cycles circled, or Circles cyked; 
Tail-bearing went out of date — 
The horse behind the man before (rear 
of Centaur — obtuse!) 
Disappeared — man stood elate; 
Euterpe stole the golden scales 

From our mesmerized mermaid 
Mother, 
And, hand in hand, they went inland 

To the woodland's leafy cover; 
Oh ! those Paradise days ere the snake 
appeared 
And Grandpa thought he had 'em — 
When Grandmama was Eveline 
And Grandpapa was Adam. 

But a tail once worn we can't forget — 
Nor a tale once told recall ; 
, So the ta(i)le crept in in the serpent's 
skin, 
About cider time in the fall; 
And ever since then we sons of men, 
And monkeys, and fish, and things, 
Have suffered the flail of the Tell-Tale- 
Tail 
That now soars around on wings. 

So give us a day of the good old days — 
Ere Japhet, Shem and Ham — 

When Grandpapa was an oyster 
And Grandmama was a clam. 

31 



SILAS SIMKINS' SLEIGH. 

THE snow 'ad been a slidin' down 
From early dawn till night; 
The earth was softly sleepin' 
'Neath a downy quilt of white; 
An' as you couldn't tell how long 

That snow was goin' to stay, 
I 'lowed 'at I'd take Mandy out 
In Silas Simkins' sleigh. 

Now Silas Simkins had a sleigh 

'At he had bought in town, 
'At put into the shadder 

All the sleds fer miles aroun*; 
A regular swell cutter — 

An' he'd promised, don't you see, 
'At when the first snow got here 

He 'ud lend the thing to me. 

I rode down to Silas's, 

'An Silas he said, "Yes"— 
So out she come, an' in the shafts 

I harnessed up old Bess ; 
Then drove over an' asked Mandy 

If she'd like to take a ride; 
An' soon was slidin' 'cross the snow 

With Mandy at my side. 

You see there was a little thing 

I'd tried for many a day 
To get nerve to tell to Mandy ; 

An' I thought that in a sleigh 
I could kind o' get my courage up 

To offer the suggestion 
'At we ride together on thro* life — 

In fact, to pop the question. 

We drove for hours an' hours 

Into regions most remote, 
Me tryin' jes' to swallow down 

The lump within my throat; 
An' when it seemed we'd covered 

'Bout a thousand miles o' ground, 
Why, Mandy said as how she guessed 

We'd better turn around. 

I don't know how it happened. 

But in some peculiar way 
My arm got sort o' stretched along 

The back o' that there sleigh. 
And Mandy said she 'lowed the wind 

Was gettin' kind o' colder; 
Then my arm it slipped 'round Mandy 
and — 

Her head was on my shoulder. 



32 



There was nothin' there but silence 

After that between oursel'es, 
An' my thoughts jes' seemed to mingle 

With the jingle o' the bells. 
I got to sort o' dreamin' of 

A lot o' things when — douse — 
We was both dumped in a snowdrift 

'Bout two miles apast the house. 

Well, durn it ! then my pipe went out — 

But, down the stairs there comes 
The sweet strains of a lullaby, 

'At Mandy softly hums 
To a bloomin' bunch o' baby 

'At arrived the other day — 
A kind o* "in memoriam" 

O' Silas Simkins' sleigh. 



CRISS-CROSS. 

THE football team I sing about 
Once learned a foxy trick. 
They practiced it until they thought 
That they could do it "slick." 
But when they came to try it on 

It nearly queered the game ; 
And everybody seemed to think 
The right half was to blame. 

The left half back received the ball^ 

Then ran toward the right 
Half back, to whom he passed it, 

And he did it out o' sight ; 
Right there the right half back was 
wrong — 

Just as a hole was cleft 
He lost his interference and 

The right half back was left. 

The wrong right half back, who was 
left,_ 

Then tried to start a fight, 
But the full back wouldn't have it, 

For the left half back was right — 
The left wrong right back left the field. 

And right back home did pull. 
And told the folks they lost because 

The quarter back was full. 

33 



HAD I BUT KNOWN. 

''¥ TAD I but known." They're but 
I J[ four little words, 

And yet how oft we find these 
words to be 
The knell of many a grand ambition 
lost, 
The anguished cry of fallen misery; 
From the chaos of despair we hear the 
moan — 
"Had I but known! Had I but 
known !" 

The happy boy, without a thought or 
care, 
His footsteps guided by a mother's 
love, 
Of whose self-sacrifice he little knows 
Until, when she's been called to realms 
above. 
He murmurs, as he treads life's way 
alone — 
"Had I but known! Had I but 
known !" 

And hoary age, with faltering step, and 
head 
Bent low beneath the cruel hand of 
time — 
He's made a failure of a human life 

His God created to be made sublime ; 
Tottering to the grave we hear him 
groan — 
"Had I but known! Had I but 
known !" 

l'envoi. 

For the twenty-second time this has 
come back, 
Hereafter I'll let editors alone; 
I might have saved two dollars' worth 
of stamps — 
Had I but known ! Had I but known ! 



34 



WILLIAMS. 

WILLIAM is a name that's given 
Boy babies far and near, 
When screaming at the chris- 
tening, 
They're held by mothers dear; 
But you will find in after life, 
If Williams you should scan, 
The name abbreviated and 
The mirror of the man. 

Perhaps you'll find a "WilHam," 

Quiet, dignified, sedate. 
Who'll look at you in a calm, sweet way, 

And 3'our errors demonstrate. 
He treads unharmed life's primrose 
path, 

Nor looks for pleasures till 
He reaches heaven, and you'll find 

He's usually called— "Will." 

But here's another "William," 

Who takes life as a joke; 
He's not too bad and not too good, 

And 'most generally always broke. 
Light-hearted, careless, happy, 

Whether paths are smooth or hilly, 
And as thro' life he floats along 

The whole world calls him — "Billy." 

And here we have a "William;" 

A sturdy man and true. 
With a ready hand to help a friend 

And a ready will to do ; 
Rough-handed but warm-hearted; 

A man whose voice would still 
The passions of a frenzied mob, 

And his comrades call him — Bill." 

Last, also least, of "Williams" 

Is the chap with the silken lid, 
Whose legs look like the running gears 

Of the talkative katydid. 
With collar high and red necktie. 

He walks and talks like a "gilly." 
With a lemon pie I could soak the guy 

Who goes by the name of — "Willie." 



35 



THE BOHEMIAN'S PLAINT. 

*'¥F I should die to-night," 
^ And in my clothes 

Should be the goodly sum of 
Thirty cents, 
Left lying there 
Unspent, 
In sweet repose. 
I say! 

If I should die to-night 
And leave 

Behind me in these cold. 
Prosaic pants 
The price 
Of six large beers 
On draught, 
Unquaft 

By me and destined 
To remain 

Forever on the outside of 
My frame. 
If I should die. 
And from the great beyond 
Look back and see 
That thirty cents ta'en 
And spent foolishly 
For bread. 
Or clothes, 

Or some such empty thing; 
And those six beers — 
Long destined to be bought 
By me — 
Now spilled 
Down other throats, 
Their destiny 
Unfilled. 
I say! 

If I should die to-night 
And go 

From Here to There 
(Or where 
It doesn't snow) — 
And, looking back from there 
To here. 
Behold 

Those six large beers. 
So large, and oh ! — 
So cold, 

Go coursing down the throats 
Of other 
Men — 

'Twould be so sad, 
For I would need them — 
Then. 



36 



HUCKLEBERRY PIE. 

SINCE we struck oil in Squabtown 
We've been about a few. 
An' livin' kind o' high, but I 
'LI say right here to you 
'At these new-fangled dishes 'at 

The swell 'otels ez got 
Somehow don't seem to me to jes* 
Exactly hit the spot. 

Now, this yere bill o' fare's, I guess, 

Considered purty fine — 
With cave-e-air an' pom-de-tare 

An' fancy kinds o' wine — 
But 'long about this time o' year, 

Ye know, I kind o' sigh 
Fer jes' a good old-fashioned slab 

O' huckleberry pie. 

Ye don't keer much about it? 

Well, I guess you never ate 
The kind o' pie 'at mother made 

Before we left the state 
O' comfortable poverty 

Fer all this bloomin' wealth. 
An* started to get come-il-faut 

An' undermine our health. 

It didn't come in little strips — 

But great, big, juicy sHces — 
An' many of 'em as ye pleased, 

With no regard to prices. 
It come about two inches thick — 

An' crust — gee whiz ! but my 
Mouth's waterin' fer a piece o' mother's 

Huckleberry pie. 

Jes' like the clover use' to smell's 

The way it use' to taste — 
Seems as I kin feel it now 

A-meltin* in my face — 
Talk about yer flyin' wedges ! 

Fill me up an' let me die 
Jes' full o' big, black, juicy chunks 

O* huckleberry pie. 



37 



SINCE BABY CAME. 

SINCE baby came, all cuddled in a 
heap 
Of swaddling clothes, and I took 
my first peep, 
The flowers have taken on a brighter 

hue; 
The sky, somehow, has been a bluer 
blue; 
And birds a chant triumphant seem to 
keep. 

From out the bottom of my heart, so 

deep, 
Tumultuous joy doth ever upward leap 
Each time I hear a softly murmured 
"Goo"— 

Since baby came. 

But, tho* a papa's pleasures I now reap, 
And bachelors' empty pleasures make 
me weep. 
There's just one thing I will admit to 

you — 
(Remember that it's strictly "entre 
nous") — 
I've only had about two hours' sleep — 
Since baby came. 



LE ROI EST MORTI 
VIVE LE ROI I 

**|V yiY house is my castle," I used ta 

[\l sing, 

And there I royally reigned 
In supreme command of everything, 
A regular regal kind of king — 

Unbridled and unrestrained. 

My castle and kingdom are lost to me — 

My crown's on another's head; 
And I, perforce, must bend the knee 
In servitude to the "powers that be," 
To the Tyrant who rules instead. 

Sans crown, sans scepter, I softly sing. 
And naught can my peace annoy; 
Though I don't amount to "any old 

thing," 
I, smiling, salaam to His Nobs, the 
King— 
A twelve-pound baby boy. 

38 



SONG OF THE SURGICAL WARD 

(By a Victim.) 

TO the clinic room they run you on 
a stretcher, 
Then they lay you on a lovely 
marble slab; 
They waft you to the dopey land of no- 
where. 
And your manly form begin to cut 
and jab. 

They carve your lovely carcass with a 
scalpel, 
They slit you down the spinal with a 
lance, 
While they softly sing this merry little 
chorus. 
The pleasure of the nurses to en- 
hance : 

"Oh, Blood! Blood! Bloodl 

Red and juicy and raw; 
Blood! Blood! Blood! 

As we carve and slash and saw. 
For you're only a bloomin' patient, 

And your name is simply Mud; 
Oh! it's ho! for the Hfe 
Of the scalpel and knife 

And Blood! Blood! Blood!" 



I 



WEARY WILLIE. 

N the morning I hate to get up 
And get all dressed, for then 
I have to eat my meals an' just 
Go back to bed again. 



IN THE PARK. 

STANDING here amid the beauties 
Spread by Nature's bounteous 
hand. 
Under the blue arch of heaven, 

I can feel my soul expand; 
Though in rags, I'm yet a monarch — 

Monarch of all I survey — 
Summer, robed in verdant raiment. 
Doth her annual homage pay. 

Here I'm brought to earth, alas, 
By — "Come, move on! Git off de 
grass!" 

39 



"•OUT BEHIND THE MOON." 

(To the Boys of Indiana, Pa.) 

SINCE poets have long of Arcady 
sung, 
Where blossoms the asphodel, 
And have let their Pegasus wander free 

Thro' Elysian field and dell ; 
Why shouldn't I, an embryo bard. 

Warble in ecstasy here 
Of the nearest place to Eden 

I've found on this bleak old sphere; 
A sylvan spot where care's forgot 
And laughter and life are atune, 
Where sorrow is drowned in the clink 
passed round — 
Out behind the moon. 



Deep in the depths of a mighty wood. 

By the banks of a rippling stream. 
In the heart of God's own country 

Where the world seems a turbulent 
dream ; 
Gathered 'round the fountain of life. 

Draining from joy the dregs. 
Satyrs in their shirt sleeves sit, 

Drinking dew drops from beer kegsj 
Where the frog sings low his "Kunk- 
Chlunk" 

And the tree toads softly croon, 
Where the booze-tree grows by the 
brier rose — 

Out behind the moon. 



AN "O" ODE. 

(At Night.) 

IT'S O for the wine 
While it sparkles — 
It's O for a "bot" 
And a bird — 
It's O for a hack 

Or a hansom — 
For "laughter and song" 
Is the word. 

(The Next Morning.) 
It's owe for the wine 

That's a mem'ry — 
It's owe for the bird 

And the "bot"; 
It's owe for the carriage 

And owe for it all — 
And, oh ! what a head 

We have got. 

40 



A FRIEND IN NEED. 

**'npiS hard to be poor," sighed the 
I artist, 

"Ah! 'tis hard to be poor," 
sighed he. 
That's all right," said his sketch pad, 
"If you're busted, old man, draw on 
xne. 



A GOSSIP'S EPITAPH. 

SHE talked of her neighbors. 
She talked of her friends. 
She talked of their "doings"; 
Predicted their ends. 

And, since sh<^ has died, 

I'm perplexed, I avow, 
As to just who in Hades 

She talks about now. 



THE MILKY WAY. 

*'¥TEY diddle diddle, 
£ J The cat and the fiddle, 

The cow jumped over the 
moon" — 
Is an ancient rhyme 
Of ye olden time 
With our nursery days atune. 

But explain, if you can. 
To an ignorant man. 

And answer a question, pray, 
That's got me humped — 
When that old cow jumped 

Did she jump in the milky-way f 

41 



AN ICE ODE. 

(By the Bibbler.) 

^<r-pHERE'S many a slip 

J[ 'Twixt the cup and the lip" 
We find as thro' life we roam; 
But there's many more "slips," 
Slides, falls and trips 
'Twixt the cup and our bed at home. 



T 



THE LOST CHORD. 

HE house seems lonely and empty, 
Seems ever so strangely still; 
In our hearts there's a void that 
is aching — 
A void that no voice can fill. 



The whispered word that is spoken 
Seems only the ghost of a sound 

For which we are each of us yearning, 
With only the silence around. 

From our lives all the music's departed, 
All harmony's gone since the day 

The installment collector called on us 
And took the piano away. 



PERPLEXING. 

HEN the little bill collector 
Chaseth up his little bill, 
If 1 only happen to be out 
I'm in my money still. 



W 



But if I happen to be in 
When he appears about, 

I have to loosen up and pay 
The money — so I'm out. 

And so my trolley's twisted, 
For you see, beyond a doubt, 

If I happen to be out — I'm in, 
And if I'm in — I'm out. 

42 



Y 



"PORK AND " 

ER can't gi' me no con about ycr 
j^ layouts 'alley cart/' 

Per when it comes to feedin*, why 
de grub dat plays de part 
Wid me is plain old "pork and beans," 

a-comin' quick an' hot — 
I tell ye, cull, dat certainly's de stuff 

dat hits de spot. 
Jes' drift into a hash-house where dey 

don't tro' on no lugs — 
Der ain't nobody barred at all but busted 

bums an' bugs; 
Get up on a stool an' tell de gent dat 

runs de place 
"If he'll chase along some pork an' 

beans ye think ye'll feed yer face." 
Den he'll holler in de lingo dat de cook 

'11 understand 
Yer order trou' de wall-hole — an' it's 

jes' — "pork and — '* 

Dey bring it to you all piled up, a regu- 
lar dopey dome, 
An' ye smear it all wid ketchup 'at 'ud 

make ye leave yer home. 
Ye can eat it any way ye want — de best 

way's wid a knife, 
So's ye kin chuck it quicker; an' say, 

cull, on yer life, 
I ain't jes' a-chinnin'; an' if ye need a 

meal, 
Why, stick to pork an' beans an' get a 

pat hand every deal. 
An' if ye find ye're broke an' got a 

loidy on yer staff, 
Jes' fill her up on beans — why, cull, ye 

certainly 'ud laugh 
To hear me Lizzy whisper — "Say, mebbe 

dis ain't grand !" — 
When de guy dat pushes pies jes' hollers 

out — "pork and — " 



43 



HIS FINISH. 

HE was a fiery Frenchman, 
With an awful thirst for gore; 
Of those horrible French duels 
He had fought at least a score; 
He had started revolutions 

'Til he found the sport grew tame; 
But he fainted dead away the day 
He saw a football grjkme. 



A RONDEAU. 

JES' lyin' here, with nothin' else to do 
But watch the clouds a-slidin' 
'cross the blue. 
Soft sky o' summer; what's the use o' 

June, 
When everything in nature seems 
atune ? 
'Cept to lie here an' day-dream fancies 
woo. 



'Crost the meadows comes the dove's 

soft coo, 
The sweet scent o' the clover's driftin' 
through 
The daisies, as I doze from morn 'til 
noon, 

Jes' lyin' here. 



As summer poetry that, I hope, will do; 
It's zero weather and the snow drifts 
through 
My attic window; but it's none too 

soon 
On magazines to spring your poems 
of June. 
So for the shekels I am (sad but true) 
Jes' lyin' here. 

44 



HOW'RE THEY COMIN' WITH 
YOU? 

I STARTED 'round, the other day, 
To satisfy myself 
How fast the general public 
Was accumulating wealth; 
Each individual I met 

I interviewed, you see. 
So now I'll try and tell to you 
What some of them told to me. 

A shoemaker said he was "pegging 
away," 
A lawyer was "lying low," 
A doctor was making his money 

"Dead easy" — he told me so. 
A butcher managed to "make ends 
meat," 
The iceman had "struck a frost," 
A plumber I met was "hitting the 
pipe"— 
Poor fellow, I guess he's lost. 

A pickpocket was "taking things easy"; 

A baker was "loafing all day"; 
A grocer told me in confidence, 

"Things were going his weigh." 
A dentist was "living from hand to 
mouth," 

And here, just to make a rhyme, 
I'll have to ring in the jeweler. 

Who was working "over time." 

A burglar said "things were picking up," 

But he had to work at night; 
Even a poor blind beggar man 

Was "doing out of sight." 
An ossified man was having 

An awful "hard time," he said. 
While an undertaker admitted 

He was "doing well — on the dead." 

A prima donna, who warbles. 

Said "life went by like a song"; 
But a little soubrette I casually met 

Was "barely getting along." 
An oil producer told me 

He "managed to get a long well," 
While a Hebrew merchant mentioned 

He had "clothing to burn or sell." 



45 



I 



I asked a spiritualist liow things were; 

"Just medium," she replied. 
A barber said he was "scraping along," 

And then curled up and died. 
A furrier "ran a skin gam.e," 

A jockey was "on the go," 
But it turned my head when a dress- 
maker said 

She was doing "sew and sew." 

Now, pardon me if in conclusion 
Of myself I modestly speak — 

All I'm doing is digging out stuff like 
this 
For sixty cents a week. 



IN THE SPRING. 

N the Spring was when I met her; 
Witching maid ! I'll ne'er forget her, 
As she merrily tripped by me, with a 
milk pail 

On her arm. 



She was dainty as the dew, sir, 
As she said : "I don't know you, sir !" 
When I chanced a friendly greeting, and 
I really 

Meant no harm. 

When I put my arm around her 
In the spring-house, where I found her 
Dipping water in a pitcher — 'Twas a 
most 

Distressing thing! 

For the maid demurely slipped me 
By, and dexterously tripped me ; 
And then, laughingly, she left me — 
laughing, left me — 
In the sprinff. 



RETROSPECTION. 

I REMEMBER, I remember, 
De house where I wuz born; 
Where, on de quiet, my father 
Distilled moonshine from de corn. 
I wuz in childish ignorance, 

And now 'tis little joy 
To know I'm furder off from heaven 
Dan when I wuz a boy. 



BUT I'M NOT. 

IF I were a poet with burning thoughts 
To spring on the public in gilt-bound 
lots, 
I'd warble a strain whose strident tones 
Would ring from the Torrid to Frigid 

zones ; 
Kipling would look like last year's snow 
And Markham resemble the man with 

the hoe. 
I'd only write when the spirit steals 
O'er me, and not for the price of my 

meals — 
Oh ! the world would be an Arcadian 

spot 
If I were a poet, you know — 

But I'm not. 

If I were a Croesus with bonds and 

stocks 
And country places and brown-stone 

blocks, 
I'd drive fast horses and own a yacht 
And give away organs and gawd knows 

what ; 
I'd smoke cigars at a dollar per 
And hire a valet to call me "Sir" ; 
I'd drink champagne with every meal 
And rumble around in an automobile — 
Oh ! I'd be a sport who was right on the 

dot 
If I were a Croesus, you know — 

But I'm not. 

If I were married — ah ! blissful dream, 
With what a host of delights you teem: 
In a cheap little home with a dear lit- 
tle wife 
I'd merrily drift down the stream of 
life ! 
'Round papa the children would glee- 
fully play 
When I'd get home, after working all 
day 
At a job I realized would never be 

done — 
Grubbing for five mouths instead of 
for one. 
Mine all the joys of true love in a cot 
If I were married, you know — 

But I'm not. 



47 



If I were anything, you can see 
What a marked improvement the change 

would be; 
If I were a doctor — even a horse — 
I'd get my meals as a matter of course ; 
If I were the ice man or just a Judge, 
Or a ladies' tailor, perhaps — oh, fudge ! 
Or only a plain bank president, 
'Twould remove my worry about the 

rent — 
Yes, 'twould be a most excellent change, 

I wot, 
If I were any old thing — 

But I'm not. 

If I were worrying, you perceive, 
My life would be a continual grieve ; 
But too many troubles I've already got 
To worry about the things I am not, 
For worry you'll find a most excellent 

salve 
If you've not what you want is to want 

what you have; 
You're lucky or you would have long 

ago died — 
If you would be happy be just satisfied — 
For mine would indeed be a horrible lot 
If I were worrying — See? 

But I'm not. 



'S LOVE. 

LOVE? Ye got me guessin' now — 
Can't explain the "why" nor 
"how"— 
Kind o' puzzlin', I allow, 

*s love. 

Figure out a lot o* truck 

'Bout a fortune — fortune's luck — 

Find you're kind o' daffy struck — 

*s love. 

Git your ideas o* the girl 

'S to be your priceless pearl — 

Find your bloomin' head's a-whirl — 

*s love. 
Jes' a girl — don't matter who, 
Jes' so she's the girl for you — 
All your figurin' is through — 

's love. 

Jes' a girl and jes' a way 

'At she's got, an' it's all day 

With everything — you'll only say — 

'"s love."^ 

Love? Well, now, I can't jes' size it 
Up — don't worry, you'll get wise, it 
Won't git by — you'll recognize it — 

's love 

48 



IF. 



OH, wouldn't the world be a jolly- 
old place 
If nobody needed food — 
f nobody had any use for clothes. 
Yet nobody ever was nude? 

f nobody ever had to get up 

At the dawn of the morning light — 
f nobody ever went to bed 

Because nobody slept at night? 

f nobody ever had worries or cares 
And nobody ever was sad — 

f nobody ever was too dashed good 
And nobody ever was bad? 

f nobody talked about others' affairs 
Because nobody cared a curse — 

f nobody ever got sick again 
And nobody ever got worse? 

f nobody knew the way to read 
And nobody tried to write — 

f nobody ever drank water, 
Yet nobody ever got tight? 

f nobody needed money 
Nor had to work and sigh — 

f we all had nothing to do but live 
And nobody had to die? 



M 



MARY'S LAMB. 

ARY had a little lamb, 

He was her little beau. 
And everywhere that Mary went 
The lamb put up the dough. 



He followed up a little tip, 
To Wall Street he did roam; 

'Twas there they fleeced this 
lamb — 
Now Mary stays at home. 

49 



little 



WILLIE'S RUBAIYAT. 

1 DON'T know what the trouble is, 
I often tried to guess; 
Somehow I never seem to *zackly 
Fit in with the rest. 
There's al'ays one left over, 

An' I could never see 
How it happens 'at the one's 
Most generally al'ays me. 

When company'd come to supper, 

W'y, 'en Ma 'ud kind o' sigh 
An' say, "Now, Willie, dear, you 

Never did care much for pie, 
An', as it won't go all way 'round. 

Eat lots o' bread and jam, 
Ken, when it comes your turn for pie, 

Jes' say, "No, thank you, ma'am." 

An' nen at school it al'ays seemed 

'At trouble came my way; 
The teacher he 'ud jump on me 

For nuthin' every day; 
An' he'd get mad an' call me dunce 

An' a blockheaded fool, 
Nen usually he'd keep me in 

An' lick me after school. 

Ken one afternoon he said 

He knew I understood 
.As how he couldn't whip the girls, 

Tho' it 'ud do 'em good; 
■*At they made him so ravin' mad 

'At he 'ud have a fit 
"Less he worked it off on some one. 

An' — I was used to it. 

Ah' when Thanksgivin' comes around. 

An' all our kith an' kin 
Have a family reunion an* 

Stuff pie an' turkey in 
■'Emselves until they almos' bust. 

There's room fer all but one; 
'*.En father, he says, "William won't 

Mind waitin' 'til we're done." 

I guess if I *ud die an* go 

To heaven right away, 
St Peter *d peep out thro' the gate 

An see it's me, 'en say — 
''Tm awful sorry. Willie, we're 

So crowded, but I know 
You won't mind waitin* round outside 

Fer a thousand years or so." 



50 



I guess 'at I 'uz born too soon 

Or else not soon enough, 
Fer somehow I don't seem to fit, 

An' you can bet it's tough; 
So I'm goin' to join a circus 

Or be a soldier an' get hit, 
Fer I'm tired o' playin' in a game 

An' al'ays bein' "it." 



"LISTEN TO MY TALE OF WOE" 

A BUNCH of islands in an ocean 
grew— 
Listen to our tale of woe; 
A bunch of islands of yellow hue, 
Owned by Spain and over-due 
They grew, 
'Tis true — 
Listen to our tale of woe. 

As Dewey was sailing the ocean 
through — 
Listen to our tale of woe; 
He spied those islands of yellow hue, 
For Uncle Sam he grabbed a few, 
The few 
In view — 
Listen to our tale of woe. 

Now, Uncle Sam to the game was new — 

Listen to our tale of woe; 
He bit off the bunch and swallowed the 

chew 
And then the trouble began to brew — 
Too true ! 
Boo hoo ! 
Listen to our tale of woe. 

'Tis a trouble you doctors can't subdue — 

Listen to our tale of woe — 
So, Uncle, let us prescribe for you; 
Take an emetic and you'll pull through — 
That's true! 
So do! 
Listen to our tale of woe. 



THE BLUFF. 



T 



HE boy stood on a little pair — 

Stood pat. When all had fled 
He pocketed the pot and quit — 
Just twenty plunks ahead. 

51 



THE MARRIED MAN'S OPINION. 

WHEN it comes to female fur- 
nishing — frocks — furbelows 
and such — 
You'll find no one upon this transient 

orb knows half as much 
As to what looks best and prettiest upon 

a woman than 
The poor, down-trodden, over-ridden, 
sat-on married man. 

He doesn't care for "gew-gaws" — 

"they're so vulgar, don't you 

know" — 
"Look just like a Christmas tree," or 

"you're a holy show" — 
He certainly is strenuous about the 

quiet and chaste — 
As for diamonds? You know diamonds 

show excruciating taste. 

And when it comes to gowns? He 

knows what looks the best — 
The worst — the worst, of course, is 

"looking over-dressed" — 
To one old worn-out, passed-around, 

worm-eaten gag he clings — 
"You know, dear, you look sweetest in 

those simple little things." 

And hats? Well, that's so easy it's a 
shame to ring it in — 

"The profit made by milliners is cer- 
tainly a sin" — 

No "Parisian creations" ever worn by 
dames of wealth 

Can be compared a minute with the 
ones she makes herself. 

At last, to cap the climax, most sin- 
cerely he'll declare 

He never notices at all what other 
women wear — 

And he wouldn't, either, you can bet 
your bloomin' life — 

H other women dressed the way he'd 
like to dress his wife. 



52 



"ITRy La^^ye FacVe'* 



A PICNIC POEMLET. 

I HAVE dined at Del's and Sherry'^ 
and at many a table d'hote — 
In French "cafes" and Chinese 
"joints" I've tantalized my 
throat — 
I have dallied with a bird petite and 

cracked a bottle cold — 
Run the gamut from martini's to the 

brie bedecked with mould; 
But the daintiest repast I've ever stowed 

away within 
Were some large and luscious olives- 
off a 

Long 
Hat 
Pin. 

Gather round, ye sated gourmands, with 

the jaded appetites — 
I'll disclose to you the cream of gastro- 

nomical delights ; 
Try it and you'll all declare it simply is 

immense, 
And your wildest epicurean dreams will 

look like "thirty cents"; 
Just get a dainty maiden, with a dimple 

in her chin, 
To sit and feed you olives off a 

Long 
Hat 
Pin. 

Perhaps you don't like olives? — I don't 

either, — never mind, 
Just try my little process and I'll guar- 
antee you'll find 
A sweet, salubrious feeling to your 

thought-dome swiftly mounts, 
And the girl that does the feeding is the 

only thing that counts; 
Oh! that I might drift to Dreamland 

from this sordid world of sin 
While "my babj'" feeds me olives off a 

Long 
Hat 
Pin. 



55 



THE WORLD AND A WOMAN. 

HOW alike are the world and a 
woman — 
If a man but comprehends — 
The poles of the world are in mystery 
furled, 
And so are a woman's ends. 

The world thro' the universe circles 

In its flight on its orbit true — 
A woman calls 'round in her "circle," 

And is more or less flighty, too. 

A man gives his all for a woman, 
And her lip 's in derision curled — 

The world gives but shabby treatment 
When a man gives up all for the 
world. 

But a man who laughs at its trials 
Will never have lived in vain — 

And a woman will shower her favors 
Where treated with most disdain. 

The world is a cruel master, 
While a woman's a tyrant, too — 

Yet both are supreme in their beauty 
When the skies and the eyes are blue. 

The world awakes in its glory 

When the sun thro' the gloom ap- 
pears — 
A woman's sublime in her sorrov/ 
Who can smile on the world thro* 
tears. 

Yes, to me the world and a woman 

Will ever synonymous be — 
For my world's in the eyes of a woman, 

And a woman's the world to me. 



A WISH. 

OH ! for a tiny barque 
Upon an ocean blue ; 
This cold, prosaic world behind-^ 
Alone, sweetheart, with you r^ 

Upon a sea of happines5^= ^■' 

^Without ^ thoijght but love, 
fThe waters grand on either hand, ^>d^ 

The star-strewn sky above; 
With Cupid for our helmsman 

We'd sail away together, 
you and I, and Love, fond heart, 
Forever and fprever. _ 

S6 



A TOAST. 

HERE'S to the girl with midnight 
eyes 
And hair of raven hue! 
To the girl with the quivering lash and 
lips 
And eyes of deep, deep blue ! 

Here's to the girl divinely fair; 

To the girl so queenly tall ! 
Here's to the girl with Titian hair — 

But here's to the dearest of all — 

To the girl of girls ! the girl who shines 
O'er my soul like the sun above; 

Come, drink with me all — 

The best girl in the world ! 

The girl that loves me — that I love ! 



T 



TILLY'S HAIR. 

ILLY'S hair bewilders me 

With its tints of gleaming gold 
Banked up in a glorious mass — 
Back and front and fold on fold. 



Just why it bewilders me 

I don't suppose you really care; 

But how much of it's "rats" and things, 
And how much of it's — Tilly's hair? 



AND HE DIDN'T. 

^OHY and blushing maiden, 
■ ^ Sprig of mistletoe. 

He caught her right beneath it ; 

'Course she didn't know. 
But when he went to kiss her 

She angrily cried, "Don't ! 
Stop, sir !" — and he acquiesced 

And promptly said, "I won't." 



SILENCE GIVES CONSENT. 

HE asked her what she'd do 
H he stole a kiss. 
Sub rosa. 
She answered not — so he purloined 
A bunch of them — 

Sub nosa. 

\ ■^. 57 



A MEMORY I REMEMBER. 

TOGETHER we sat on the seat 
where we sat 
As we sat on the winding stair; 
And lovingly held in our hands the 
hands 
Our hands were holding there. 
While I looked in her eyes with a look 
that looked 
In the look she looked in mine. 
And the feeling we felt was a feeling 
you've felt, 
And perhaps divine was divine. 

A silent stillness silently stole 

O'er our soulfully silent souls; 
And her slim waist there on the wind- 
ing stairs 

My winding arm enfolds. 
She breatf?ed her breath in a breathless 
breathe. 

And sighed a sigh on the side. 
While o'er my being glidingly glided 

A most beatific glide. 



She snuggled up to me snugger 

Than she'd ever snugged before r 
And a wonderful wonder wandered 

My wanuermg senses o'er — 
To think that I, myself — that's me — 

Ego, We Us and Co., 
Had won the one love of this lovely girt. 

Who lovingly loved me so. 

And sitting there on the seat where we 
sat 
We might have been sitting yet. 
Yet we aren't, and the cause is just be- 
cause 
We were just sitting out the set. 



WHEN LOVE IS DEAD. 

WHEN love is dead this world 
will be a dark and dreary 
place — 
When love is dead we'll seldom see a 

smile on human face — 
Sunshine then will never fall across 

life's weary way — 
While musing thus a voice I hear and 

some one seems to say: 
"When love is dead— ah, mortal, know, 
That what you dread will ne'er be so; 
Tho' tears are shed, yet do not sigh — 
For love, true love, can never die." 

58 



I 



WANTED— A WIFE. 

'M looking for a maiden. 
She must be slim, petite. 

With wee, aristocratic hands 
And dainty little feet. 



A brow like alabaster — crowned 
With hair of reddish gold, 

A figure — just a trifle plump — 
About on Psyche's mold. 

Her eyes must be that liquid brown 

The poets rave about — 
Her mouth a dainty rosebud 

That's ne'er been known to pout. 

Her nose — a little, classic one. 
And eyebrows black as night — 

Her neck like chiseled ivory. 
Her shoulders snowy white. 

She must be bright and witty and 
With every grace endowed. 

Her disposition must be sweet 
And not the least bit proud. 

And then, as poets sometimes eat — 

I must insist, I fear. 
That she have — in her own name, too- 

Ten thousand plunks a year. 

Now, gentle reader, if you fill 

The bill — don't hesitate 
To ship yourself at once to me — 

"Yours truly" pays the freight. 



GOLF— AS SUSIE PLAYS IT. 

IDINNA ken so very much about the 
game of golf — 
And, what is more, I ken I dinna 
care ; 
For the difference 'twixt a "stymie" and 

a "foozle" or a "cleek" 
Is a problem that I can't get thro' my 
hair. 

Yet, 'round the links I wander in a 
dreamy sort of way. 
And each time she swings her 
"brassy" I applaud. 
For I know no joy that's keener nor 
sensation that's serener 
Than simply watching Susie soak the 
sod. 

59 



MARJORIE MINE. 

MARJORIE MINE— 
I am sitting to-night 
'Neath the summer moon's soft 
_ glow, 
Living again in Dreamland, love, 

An evening of long ago ; 
When we sat in the deepening twilight 

And I laid my all at your shrine — 
You whispered "Yes" — a tender caress; 
Then I named you "Marjorie Mine." 

Oh ! the years have been long and 
weary, love, 
Since^ that night in the dim Faraway, 
And Time has bended me low, sweet- 
heart, 
And sprinkled my hair with gray ; 
I am nearing the end of the journey 
now; 
But, through all, I have always been 
thine. 
And you, the' you left me alone, long 
ago, 
Have always been 

"Marjorie Mine." 



FAIREST FLOWERS. 

THE fairest flowers in the world! 
Dost know them, reader mine? 
Can'st tell the fairest blossoms 

That this bleak old world intwine? 
Roses, did you say? Nay! Nay! 

The pansy's knowing face? 
Beautiful chrysanthemums. 

That swing with stately grace? 
The dainty daisy, turning 

Its face toward the sun? 
Sweetly scented violets? — 

The list is but begun. 
But no I though all are passing fair, 

'Tis not of these I sing; 
Nor of arbutus — flow'rets 

That among the mosses cling; 
Nor yet the tiger lily, as 

Its Titian wealth unfurls — 
But of the fairest flowers of all — 

A bunch of Youngstown girls. 

60 



LOVE. 

WHAT is love? Now, that's the 
question 
Disarranges the digestion 
Of about a million mortals, more or 
less; 
They know all about astronomy, 
Political economy, 
But when they tackle Love they have to 
guess. 

Now of love I've made a study, 
And I challenge anybody 
Who about it think they know a thing 
or two ; 
To start their brains a twirling 
And their wisdom wheels to whirling, 
And get up and try to tell me something 
new. 

Love's no everlasting joy 
Nor a naked little boy, 
Nor like anything on earth or heaven 
above — 
It's a queer, fantastic feeling 
O'er your system softly stealing. 
And you blame it on your liver — but it's 
— love. 

Just because a maiden fair 
Lays her head of golden hair. 
With a gentle sigh, upon your manly 
heart, 
You suddenly grow spooney, 
Also just a trifle looney, 
And swear that from her side you'll 
never part. 

Then you nestle up together. 
And you softly ask her whether 

She's "oor 'ittle 'ucky ducky," don't 
you know — 
An' you never hear her Pop 
Till on you he's got the drop, 

And out into the street you quickly go. 

You are picked up in a trance. 
Taken in an ambulance. 
And in place your broken bones the doc- 
tors shove, 
With a face that's badly battered, 
And a collar bone that's shattered 
You can bet 3^our bottom dollar that is 
love — 
You can bet your bottom dollar 
That is Love. 



61 



THE TRAINED NURSE. 

JUST a dear little womanly woman, 
With the light of a soul in her 
eyes— 
The gleam of a God-speeded sunbeam 
Shining out 'neath a brow worldly- 
wise ; 
With soft hands to smooth out the 
pillow 
Of pain; with sweet face bent above 
The bed of some poor stricken fellow — 
Ministering angel of love. 

She's not a tall ravishing beauty 

To be sued in the dust for a smile ; 
Nor a cute dimpled bit of a plaything 

To be fondled and petted a while; 
She's just a girl — happy and human, 

Sweet, sympathetic and wise — 
Just a dear little womanly woman, 

With the light of a soul in her eyes. 



PERSISTENCE. 

JUST a score of faded letters. 
Breathing tender words and true- 
But what memories they awaken 
As once more I read them through : 
There was Gladys, little darling, 

Dainty Sue, Louise, sedate — 
Penelope, who seemed so shy — 
Margo, Ann and lovely Kate; 
They're all married now, and I — 
Well— 
I'm looking out for Number Eight. 

62 



BREAK, BREAK— BROKE I 

^'QREx^K, break, break, 

Ij On thy cold, gray stones, O 
sea," 
As I sit on the beach with the lovely 
maid 
Who has promised to marry me. 

Two happy weeks together — 

What a future of bliss we planned — 
Then she went home and I realized 

The "touch" of that vanished hand. 

Broke, broke, broke, 

At the foot of thy crags, O sea, 
And the beautiful "roll" I had when I 
came 

Will never come back to me. 



SOME ONE. 

JUST to have some one to share it ! 
Dear heart, that's the substance and 
sum 
Of all that is worth the achieving — 

All happiness now and to come. 
Just to have some one to share it, 

Whether it's gray sky or blue — 
Just to have some one to share it — 
Just to have some one — that's you. 

Just to have some one — just some one — 

Just a dear cheek close to mine — 
Just a hand warm with affection 

And the roses and rue intertwine. 
Some one to help you to bear it — 

Or share just the sunshine for two. 
Just to have some one to share it — 

Some one — the one one — that's you. 

LOVE'S AWAKENING. 

I THOUGHT that Love was dead 
And laid to rest 
Upon his downy couch 
Within my breast; 
Slain by a quivering arrow 

From the bow 
Of one I thought I loved:— 

I did not know 
That Love, whom I thought dead. 

Was but asleep. 
And resting from his cares 
In slumber deep — 
JUntil you came and to him 
7 Sleeping, spoke, 
Then at your gentle bidding — 
Love awoke. 

63 



MAY— EXPENSIVE MAY. 

MAY usually meanders here 
About the first of May, 
And now's a pretty time of 3'ear 
Of May to sing a lay; 
But the May I'm thinking of 

(Tho' a much warmer member 
Than any other May I've struck) 
Didn't strike me 'til December. 

May's the month of all the year 

That poets love to sing of ; 
Month of all other months more dear 

To them — and quite a string of 
Poetry I could warble, too, 

For naught to me is clearer 
That, dear as May may be to them, 

Still May to me is dearer. 



TO A KENTUCKY BELLE. 

AS the gentle breeze of summer stirs, 
the leaves upon the trees, 
And they seem to murmur in 
complete content; 
As wafted zephyrs softly play upon 
aeolian strings 
'Til they harmonize in sweet abandon- 
ment — 
So from the discords of my life angelic 

music springs 
And bears my weary soul aloft upon its . 

widespread wings — 
'Tis just the softest touch on my heart's 

responsive strings — 
Of a breath from the blue grass of Ken- 
tucky. 



THE MAID AND THE MAN. 

^^TYZHERE are you going, my 
Y^ pretty maid?" 

"I'm going a-berrying, sir," 
she said. 

"Where do you berry, my pretty maid?"' 
"In the cemetery, you zimp," she said. 

"May I go with you, my pretty maid?"' 
"It's none of your funeral, sir," she said=^ 

64 



TWO PAIRS OF EYES. 

(With apology to James Whitcomb 
Riley.) 

OH ! two beautiful eyes of a sky- 
tinted blue, 
Reflecting a soul, saintly pure, 
shining through — 
Two beautiful eyes that gleam out like 

the sun, 
Dispelling the gloom when the long 

night is done — 
Have shed their soft glow o'er my heart, 

bleak and bare, 
And scattered the shadows long linger- 
ing there; 
Up out of life's discords sweet sym- 
phonies rise 
As I stand in the light of two beautiful 
eyes. 

Oh ! two glorious eyes, black — black as 

the night, 
As they darkly shine out 'neath a brow 

snowy white. 
Thro' languorous lids they have looked 

into mine 
And my senses are drugged in the potion 

divine ; 
Drunk with their beautj^ I reel, slip 

and fall, 
And in their dark depths sink my life, 

love and all, 
As, deaf to the warning that bids me 

arise, 
I swoon in the night of two glorious 

eyes. 



LOVE'S DAY, 

LOVE and Laughter, hand in Is and. 
Danced upon the glistening sand. 
On the shore of Life's wide sea, 
In the morning, merrily. 

In the noontime. Love again 

Treads Life's shore, but now 'tis Pain 

By her side walks wearily. 

In the noontime, by the sea. 

Late the evening shadows fall; 
Waiting, by the sea, the Call, 
Love, with Sorrow on her breast, 
Sits, as the sun sinks in the West. 

65 



THAT OLD COAT SLEEVE OF 
MINE. 

(A soliloquy on an old dress coat.) 

THERE it hangs, alone, discarded, 
An old dress coat of ancient cut; 
Once it proudly graced a ballroom. 
Now its mission's over ; but 
That sleeve — ah ! as I watch it. 

Self to fancy I resign, 
And to memories that linger 
'Round that old coat sleeve of mine. 

I recall when first I wore it — 

'Twas a dinner — just a score 
Of gay old friends invited down 

To meet Miss Boggs, of Baltimore. 
I met her — took her in to dinner — 

(Violet eyes, petite, divine) 
How her fingers seemed to nestle 

In that old coat sleeve of mine. 

We talked about the opera, 

The latest ball, the atmosphere; 
But her voice (I still can hear it) 

Seemed like music in my ear. 
Of that dinner I remember 

Not the cuisine or the wine ; 
But the creamy silk that rustled 

'Gainst that old coat sleeve of mine. 

Like the foolish moth that hovers 

'Round the candle's flickering light. 
All unconscious of its danger, 

So I lingered near that night; 
Yes, I recollect I asked her 

For a waltz — ah ! 'twas divine, 
As about her dainty waist 

I put that old coat sleeve of mine. 

One evening 'neath the spreading palms 

We stood — in trembling accents I 
Told her, told her that I loved her, 

That my love would never die ; 
Would she be my wife? Then, in her 

Eyes I saw my answer shine; 
And a little brown head rested 

On that old coat sleeve of mine. 



66 



AN IMPRESSION ON AN OLD 
COAT. 

AH ! old coat, your day is over ; 
Spiketails, we must say "adieu." 
I must hie me to some junk shop 
On your folds to raise a few. 
For my purse is lean and empty, 

There's a dryness in my throat; 
So on Poverty's grim altar 
I must offer you — old coat. 

Say, old coat, do you remember 

("Yes," you'd answer, could you 
speak) 
When against that shiny shoulder 

Rested a rose-tinted cheek? 
Ah, the mem'ry of those moments 

(Moments now somewhat remote), 
And that cheek's soft pressure make it 

Hard to part with you — old coat. 

Yes, old coat, 'tis hard to sell you — 

All my efforts are in vain; 
Not an old-clothes man will take you 

With that ancient grease-paint stain. 



IN THE FALL. 

IN the fall the young man's fancy sadly 
turns to thoughts of how 
He's going to keep his little social 
ball a-rolling now ; 
His summer girl's a hummer and he 

wants to keep her — yet 
His winter clothes are all in hock, he's 

over ears in debt; 
Oh, the loving cup of Cupid's full of 

bitterness and gall 
For the summer man who loves his 
summer sweetheart in the fall. 

In the fall ice cream and soda will, alas, 

no longer do ; 
It's up to ale and oysters, and perhaps a 

Lobster, too. 
There's theaters and concerts and co- 
tillions by the score. 
With footbaU games and candy and 

chrysanthemums galore; 
But, there's still some satisfaction in 

rememb'ring thro' it all 
That Mother Eve put Adam up against 

it in The Fall. 

67 



LOVE'S INVENTORY. 

SOME people for the "lucre" love 
And seek to find a wife 
Who possesses the "mazuma" 
To support them all their life ; 
But 'tis not for the glittering gold, 

Nor for her worldly wealth 
I love my love — for all I love 
My love for is — herself. 

Yet, when of the situation 

I an inventory take, 
I can't deny the fact that I 

Have captured quite a stake ; 
And, if you'll bear in mind what I've 

Asserted just above, 
I'll confess some of the reasons why 

I love my love. 



I love her for the diamonds — 

That sparkle in her eyes 
And make their slightest glance appear 

A ray from Paradise; 
I love her for her ivory — brow, 

And shoulders snowy white. 
And for her silver — voice that echoes 

In my ears to-night. 

I love her for her pearls — the teeth 

That brightly gleam at you. 
And for the ruby — lips that, laughing, 

Put the pearls on view; 
I love her for her gold — en hair, 

Her wealth — of sun-kissed curls; 
But I love her most because she's worth 

A million — other girls. 



THE WINNER. 

PLAYING cards with Charlotte, 
'Neath the lamp's soft glow — 
Thought that I would teach her 
All she didn't know. 
She was a beginner, 

I a veteran old ; 
She declared she'd beat me — 
Most absurdly bold. 

Hands I held were good ones, 

Hers were very poor — 
That I'd beat her badly, 

Felt serenely sure. 
Alas, I was mistaken — 

When the game was done. 
Somehow we held each other's hands 

And — Charlotte won. 

68 



OUR CASTLES IN SPAIN. 

A HO ! for our castles in Spain, 
Sweetheart, 
Aho ! for our castles in Spain — 
Tho' the days be dark and the nights 

be long, 
And troubles troop by in an endless 

throng, 
There is happiness still if you'll harken 
my song — 

Aho ! for our castles in Spain. 

Aho ! for our castles in Spain, 

Sweetheart, 
Aho ! for our castles in Spain. 
The world is a wearisome round of 

strife 
Where sorrow is surging and sin is rife, 
So let's sail to the sunshine of love and 
life— 

Aho ! for our castles in Spain. 

Aho ! for our castles in Spain, 

Sweetheart, 
Aho ! for our castles in Spain. 
I love you, darling, but never a gleam 
Of hope I see of a joy supreme, 
So away I'll sail on the wings of a 
dream — 

Away to my castle in Spain. 

Away to my castle in Spain, 

Sweetheart, 
Away to my castle in Spain, 
For there in my kingdom my soul's 

serene, 
The skies are blue and the fields are 

green ; 
I'm lord of it all, love, and you are my 

queen — 

Away in my castle in Spain. 



69 



ONLY A KISS. 

TOGETHER they stand in the door- 
way, 
Bidding each other goodby — 
Lingering there in the gloaming, 

The youth and the maiden shy. 
His arm her fair form encircles. 
Slightly upturned is her face, 
And he does precisely the same thing 
You would have done in his place. 

Only a kiss in the twilight, 

Only a tender caress — 
Only one moment of rapture 

As he folds her close to his breast; 
But on his heart is engraven 

That scene in figures of light — 
To the end of his days he'll remember 

The kiss he gave her that night. 

Light on the stair falls a footstep, 

Unheeded by youth or by maid; 
And thro' the gloaming an optic 

Upon the two lovers is laid — 
They, never thinking that papa 

Was getting dead on to all this 
Were happy, so happy together 

As he on her lips pressed a kiss. 

Only a kiss in the twilight, 

Only a tender caress — 
Only one moment of rapture; 

What happened then you can guess. 
On the seat of his pants is imprinted 

The spot where that "Trilby" did 
light- 
To the end of his life he'll remember 

The kiss he gave her that night. 



KISSES. 

I WIS that a kiss is 
The acme of blisses ; 
And the Miss who dismisses 
As "horrid" all kisses 
Most truly remiss is — 
The reason just this is — 
There are kisses and — kisses. 

70 



AT DUQUESNE GARDEN. 

AS I fasten Phyrne's skate 
Phyrne sits serene, sedate; 
While I kneel with lowly mien 
Like a slave before a queen. 

Past us speeds the merry throng — 
Yet I linger over long; 
But who would not hesitate. 
As they fasten Phyrne's skate ? 

Tho' here on the ice I kneel, 
Cold, somehow, I fail to feel; 
But a glowing warmth as she 
Glances shyly down at me. 

And tho', swiftly in and out, 
Skaters whirl and twirl about, 
Circling gracefully around 
To the music's rhythmic sound, 

Still, I positively state. 
There is not one can gyrate, 
Like the wheels within my pate, 
As I fasten Phyrne's skate. 



SOMEBODY LOVES ME. 

SOMEBODY loves me. 
And I know who ! 
The darkling sky seems the bluest 
blue. 
The flowers seem gowned in a lovelier 

hue, 
Since I've found out, and 1 know it's 
true- 
That somebody loves me — 

And I know who. 

Somebody loves me, 

I won't tell who ! 
It wouldn't be the right thing to do ; 
I worried myself for a month or two, 
She wouldn't tell me, so I won't tell 
you; 

But somebody loves me — 

And I know who. 

Somebody loves me. 

And I know who ! 
Somebody's laughing eyes of blue 
Let just the tiniest gleam slip through; 
All by mistake, I think, don't you? 

But somebody loves me — 

And I know who. 

71 



A REFLECTION. 

A WEE, winsome bit of a woman — 
More fair than tongue hath 
told— 
With eyes as blue as turquoise — 
Brow bound with burnished gold. 

Formed like the Captive Venus 
From her sun-kissed hair to her feet — 

Lips like dew-dipped roses, 

Perplexingly perfect — complete ; 

'Tis a picture, dear, of some one. 

With face and form divine. 
Who has come like a breath from heaven 

Into this heart of mine. 

The original? You would see her, 

You little inquisitive lass. 
Who has captured this old bachelor? 

Consult your looking glass. 



THE LOST LOVE. 

WHAT love of all loves is the 
dearest 
To the love-hungry, sad, human 
heart? 
The great mother love, the sincerest? 
Or the love that will never depart? 

Or is it the love of our childhood? 

Or the love of a lost summer's day? 
The love we have wooed in the wild 
wood? 

Or the love that will live on for aye? 

Nay! The love of all loves shining 
clearest 
In ouf world-weary souls, tempest 
tossed — 
The love that is nearest and dearest 
Is the love we still love but have lost. 

72 



SOMETHING ABOUT HER. 

THERE was something about her 
appealed to him ; 
Something mystical, hazy, dim — 
Seemed to her silken skirts to cling; 
Some subtle, strange, intangible thing — 
From her rust-red hair to her ankles 
trim. 

It may have been true or just a whim ; 
Seemingly she was most mild and prim ; 
But floating around on Rumor's wing — 
There was something about her. 

But he didn't care ! In the social swim 
Both reputations and waists are slim ; 
In the rose-hued realm where Folly's 

king 
"A past" is a deucedly proper thing ; 
So, when she dreamily called him 

Jim — 
There was something about her. 



THEN AND NOW. 

HER wedding cards arrived to-day; 
As I read the dainty lines 
My fancy wanders backward and 
In the distant gloaming, finds 
Us slowly strolling, hand in hand, 

'Neath the greenwood's spreading 
bough ; 
I the old, sweet story told — 
The other fellow tells it now. 

While I sit alone, to-night, 

Confirmed old bachelor to the last, 
Dreaming o'er the faded leaves 

In the album of the past — 
What is this? A tear-drop falling? 

The sunshine of my life I thought 
her; 
I could shed a sea of tears — 

For the luckless guy who got her. 

73 



WHEN SHE SAID "YES." 

WHEN she said "yes," 
You do not know, 
I'm sure you'd never guess 
The girl I mean; 

Yet of my heart that little "yes" 
Made her the queen ; 
And me her humble slave, 
I must confess — 
When she said "yes." 



When she said "yes," 

'Twas like a rose 

Within some wilderness, 
Its fragrance pure 

Exhaling everywhere — so "yes,* 
From lips demure, 

Diffused within my heart 

True happiness — 
When you said "yes." 



TELL ME TRULY, TILLY. 

TILLY is twenty years old to-day 
(She told me herself, so I 
know) — 
Twenty short summers have passed 
away 
In the autumn's golden glow. 
In the whispering breeze's murmurings. 

The news to the leaves is told, 
And the leaves laugh back in answer — 
"Tilly is twenty years old." 

Tilly is twenty years old to-day — 

She told me herself — but 1 know 
A thing or two about Tilly, old girl. 

That the family records show. 
"Born in '79, Matilda," 

They read in letters bold. 
So if you believe for a minute 

Tilly is twenty — you're sold. 

7A 



HOW GOSSIP GOES. 

•HIRTY women, all told, 

Were at Mrs. Van Talkem's tea^ 
Telling the trouble of every one 
Who happened to absent be. 

Said Mrs. I. Knowet to Mrs. Dotel, 

"If you'll promise you'll never repeat 
What I say, I'll tell you a secret — 

A scandal that's simply a treat. 
"Mrs. Soandso did such and such, 

Etcetera and so on, you know ; 
I'm not sure it's true, and I've told only 
you — 

Don't repeat it, dear. Well, I must 
go." 

So she went, and after she'd gone, 
If you looked in you'd behold, 

Remaining at Mrs. Van Talkem's tea, 
Twenty-nine women — all told. 



75 



TO "THE THREE OF YOU." 

LOVE is sacrifice and service, and 
life's pathway is strewn with 
briars ; but as long as love and life 
go onward hand in hand, you will find 
a rainbow in every tear and God's peace 
and blessing will crown your cup of joy. 



Id 



JES' DREAMIN'. 

]ES' dreamin' — 
'Thout a thought 
Of a lot of things I ought 
To get done; 
But jes' 'low me to acquaint 
Y' with the bloomin' fac', I ain't 
Worryin' none. 

People ask me what I 'spect 

To become, 
An* I kind o' guess I'll be 

Jes' a bum; 
Somehow I can't resurrect 

No excuse — 
Jes' a habit like 'ith me — 

What's the use? 

Jes* dreamin' 

All the time; 
Life and work don't seem to rhyme 

Somehow 'ith me ; 
While the rest of the world's a-schemin', 

Lemme be — 

Jes' dreamin'. 

Dreamin' lemme live my day 
(A little work, a little play), 
An' 'nen lemme pass away — 
Jes' dreamin*. 



79 



DID YOU EVER STOP TO 
THINK? 

DID you ever stop to think, as you 
worry 'long Life's road, 
What's the use o' all your growl- 
in' an' a grumblin' at your 
load? 
This here ain't such a awful world to 

live in, after all ; 
There's lots o' things to take the place 

o' bitterness an' gall ; 
The sunshine 'at's a-floatin' 'round 'ud 

kind o' make you blink, 
If you'd only turn an' face it — 

Did you ever stop to think? 

The trouble is 'at people start to worry 

jes' a bit, 
An' then before they know it they get 

kind o' used to it; 
An' sort o' spread their cares around, 

ain't never satisfied — 
If they've got no one 'at's dyin* they 

raice up the ones 'at's died. 
They don't seem comfortable 'less 'ey 

stand on sorrow's brink 
An' cuss the world an' worry — 

Did you ever stop to think? 

Did you ever stop to think, the sun's a- 

shinin' over all, 
That this world's no sphere o* sorrow, 

tho' it ain't no golden ball ; 
But it's full o' joy an' gladness as a 

pansy bed with faces, 
An' all you got to do is jes' to dodge 

the gloomy places ; 
Jes' hustle to be happy an' you'll find 

the missin' link 
That's connectin' earth an' heaven — 
Did you ever stop to think? 



80 



w 



WHAT'S THE USE? 

HAT'S the use o' worryin*? 
Let the world jog on; 
Things 'at's comin's comin', 
Things 'at's gone is gone. 



'Fore you was a-peepin' 

The earth was rollin' 'round 

Jes' the way it will be 
When you're under ground. 

What's the use o' worryin'? 

It will come all right ; 
'Round you seems the darkest 

When you're in the light. 

Take things as you find 'em, 

An' jes' be satisfied; 
The man 'at wanted everything 

Was wantin' when he died.. 

What's the use o' worryin'? 

Be happy where you're at; 
Don't bother 'bout the future — 

God's a-runnin' that. 



81 



THE END OF THE WORLD. 

IT came with a horrible rumbling roar 
In the deathly still of the night; 
A crash and all was chaos — 
And we saw through the blinding light 
The awful fear on each human face 

Turned heavenward to implore 
One minute's grace — a minute's space, 
And all breathing life was o'er. 

The mountains crumbled into the sea, 

Whose waves surged higher, higher; 
Till the earth was wrapped, from pole to 
pole. 

In a lurid lake of fire. 
And the world, its little allotted course 

In the mighty universe run, 
A sizzling, seething ball of flame. 

Dashed downward toward the sun. 

And 'way out on another planet, 
In the firmament, gleaming afar, 

A little child cried : "Oh, mamma, look ! 
See the pretty shooting star." 



JES SATISFIED. 

(A No'th Ca'lina Soliloquy, Andante.) 

JES satisfied, Sal's, all Ah want to be, 
Jes kind o' cumfo'table — 'neath a 
tree; 
Jes lyin' 'round with nuthin' else to do 
But wait foh meals an' keep the flies 
off you; 
Ah guess that that'll be enough foh me. 

Ah sutinly need a nurse an' you can see 
You'll have to take a chance — 'taint 
often we 
Can think of any one we evah knew 
Jes satisfied. 

But Ah've a hunch that you an' Ah'll 

agree 
'Bout everything, jes long's you leave me 
be 
To do as Ah durn please; an' as foh 

you — 
Why, Sally girl, you jes got to be true; 
An' Ah ? Ah'll be in heaven, girlie ! 
gee— 

Jes satisfied. 

82 



THE OLD, OLD DAYS. 

THE old, old days, 
The old, old days — 
How far we have drifted adown 
the stream 
Of Life — where sorrows and troubles 

teem, 
And, oh ! how dear in the distance 
seem — 

The old, old days. 

I wonder, do you remember, too, 

Back o'er the years that so swiftly flew, 

Back to the hours of our childhood 

plays — 
To the laughter and tears of the old, 

old days? 

Tears and laughter and laughter and 

tears 
Mingled, as now, in the bygone years. 
But the laughter still in my memory 

stays. 
While the tears dried soon in the old, 

old days. 

The old, old days. 

The old, old days. 
The days we wished we were grown-up 

men. 
But now we know we were happiest 

then — 
And oh ! how we wish we could live 

again 

The old, old days. 



83 



"WHAT'S THE USE O' ANY- 
THING?— NOTHIN'." 

WE'RE hustled into this weary 
world 
Without knowing why or how ; 
If any one asked us our consent 

It's slipped our memory now; 
But after we're here we have to work 

And grumble and growl and sigh, 
Just to be able to draw our breath — 
Then all we can do is — die. 

Some strive onward with might and 
main. 
And finally reach the top; 
But the struggle is really an awful 
strain. 
With a horrible distance to drop; 
And after the battle is fought and won 

And we stand on a pedestal high, 
We may manage to stick 'til our sands 
are run — 
Then all we can do is — die. 

But what if we, somehow, can't struggle 
up. 

And are left with the mass below — 
Happy in getting our meat and sup, 

And smile at the world's vain show? 
What, after all, do we win, my boy, 

When for laurels and wreath we try? 
E'en glory and gold at last will cloy — 

Then all we can do is — die. 

So give us something to eat and drink, 

With a good soft place to sleep ; 
Some clothes to cover our nakedness, 
And the wealth and the fame will 
keep. 
Just crown our cup with a woman's 
love — 
A love that no gold can buy; 
And we'll live our day in our own little 
way — 
Then all we can do is — die. 



84 



BUBBLES. 

HOW oft when little children we 
Would sit and watch in ecstasy 
That shimmering, glistening skin 
of soap 
Filled full of wind — ah! childhood's 
dope — 

Bubbles. 

And as thro* life we plod and strive, 
"Dead lucky" that we're still alive. 
That beacon light and anchor — Hope — 
Becomes our substitute for soap 
Bubbles. 

But wind, when it has done its worst, 
Can do but one thing more — that's burst, 
Bust or blow up — use your own term — 
Life, Hope, Wealth, Power — and then — 
the Worm — 

Bubbles! 



85 



I 



THE LAST WORD. 

AM dying, Egypt! Dying!" 
But no poet's theme extols 
Cleopatra's final finish — 
Her soliloquy on souls : — 



"As a Christian soul must orthodox 
apologies I'll spare — 

Historians have writ me down as slight- 
ly — well — bizarre ; 

But, as I'm now about to leave, before 
I go I'll state 

Some of the souls upon this earth I 
must confess I hate : — 

"These little souls, anaemic souls, souls 

that are down and out — 
Puerile souls too cheap for Egypt's 

queen to talk about, 
Ingrain souls and crossgrain souls, souls 

that are warped and split — 
Souls that preach — but when it comes to 

practice — aber nit ! 
Self-centered souls, long-winded souls, 

souls that are all puffed up — 
Souls that inhabit anything from proud 

Caesar to a pup!" 

Relieved of this, the asp she grasped — 

No wonder that it bit her — 
And to the snake this sigh she gasped 

As life and love both quit her : — 

"I was an atom among a bunch 

Of a billion or more, I guess ; 
And what in the aeon of ages, Asp, 

Is an atom, more or less? 
An atom is only an atom — 

Yet e'en among atoms I ween 
There are atoms and atoms and atoms — 

But not every atom's a — Queen !" 



M 



MAN'S WANTS. 

AN wants but Httle here below, 
And what he wants, I wot. 
Is just a little more, you know. 
Than the little that he's got. 



But when he gets that little, 
Why, he wants a little yet, 

And the little he yet wants is just 
The little he can't get. 

86 



AN OLD COAL FIRE. 

LET poets trill their triolets about the 
olden days, 
The dear old-fashioned people 
with the queer old-fashioned 
ways ; 
Let them warble of the blue with which 

our boyhood skies were cast, 
And all the other hazy, mazy pleasures 

of the past; 
But listen to your Uncle while he tunes 

his little lyre 
And sings a little sonnet of an 

Old 
Coal 
Fire. 

We remember all about "the coffee 

mother used to make," 
Our "happy days down on the farm" 

were great, and no mistake ; 
We keep in loving memory that same 

"ole swimmin' hole," 
And "attic window" into which the 

"sunshine" always stole. 
But, just between ourselves, you know, 

the thing I most desire 
Is to sit and poke the bubbles in an 

Old 
Coal 
Fire. 

These registers and heaters, with their 
steamin', steamin', steamin'. 

Are good enough for heating, but no use 
at all for dreamin' ; 

It certainly would take a most excep- 
tional discerner 

To see "old-fashioned faces" in a "Sims 
Asbestos Burner." 

The "electro-plated yule log" doesn't, 
somehow, just inspire 

Like the warm and mellow glowing of 

^" Old 

Coal 
Fire. 

So away with all new-fangled apparat- 
uses to heat 
That don't provide a good old-fashioned 

fender for the feet ; 
Give us back the happy days they sing 

about in songs 
When our "Lares and Penates" were the 

poker and the tongs — 
For while the meter's metin' and the gas 

bill's climbin' higher 
I certainly do hanker for an 

Old 
Coal 
Fire. 
87 



DID YOU? 

DID you ever think through this 
long, lean life, 
Of the difference 'tween Theory 
and Fact? 
Of the wonderful theories we think over 
night, 
And the durn foolish way that we act? 



THE LENGTH AND THE 
BREADTH. 

LET us live the length and the 
breadth of life, 
And live it long and broad — 
We were only pushed into this puerile 
strife 
By the will of a wilsome God; 
And whether we're wrong or whether 
we're right 
No one but this God can tell; 
While the sum and substance of all your 
fright 
Is a fable of heaven and hell. 

So let us live in this limelight age — 

In the limelight money's glare ; 
Let us live with only the fools to do 

And only the fools to dare ; 
"But whether we're dared or whether 
we're done 

In this crazily strenuous strife — 
Let us each of us — all of us — every one 

Live the length and the breadth of 
life. 



From the depths beneath to the heights 

above — 
The length and the breadth of life is — 

Love. 



THE OLD MILL POND. 

SAY, fellers, do you recollect the 
place we used to skate? 
The mill pond in the hollow where 
the "gang" would congregate 
In the good, old-fashioned winter when 

the wind your ears would nip, 
And we had a lot more winter and a 

whole lot less o' grippe ? 
Do you recollect the bonfire we would 

build upon the bank. 
And the row of red-cheeked girls a- 

sittin' gigglin' 'long a plank 
While we fellers strapped the skates 

upon their dainty little feet. 
And a stolen glimpse of ankle made our 

happiness complete? 
Between the past and present there's no 

clearer, dearer bond 
Than the memory of evenings on that 

Old 
Mill 
Pond. 

This skatin' in a "Garden," 'neath the 

bright electric light — 
With a band a-playin' ragtime, is the 

proper thing, all right; 
But I ain't so much for skatin' round 

a circle at a price 
With an artificial female on your arti- 
ficial ice, 
As for the way we did it in the winters 

long ago, 
When the trees spread out their queer, 

fantastic shadows on the snow. 
There was a tiny, mittened hand I used 

to slyly squeeze 
As in unison we glided in the shadows 

of the trees; 
The only light we needed was the old 

moon up beyond 
Shinin' down and kind o' smilin' on that 

Old 
Mill 
Pond. 



89 



SUFFICIENT. 

SIT and tell yourself stories 
As the day drifts into night; 
Sit and tell yourself stories 
And dream of things coming right. 

If you are rudely awakened 

(Your stories not what they seem), 

And things come wrong — 'stead or 
right- 
All right — you've had your dream. 



90 



"Amn^iiz" 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

ALONG a winding footpath, 
Deep in a tangled glen, 
I oft'times strolled in silence, 
Far from the haunts of men. 
'Til once, as dreamily musing 
Beneath that sylvan bower, 
Peeping pink from the faded leaves 
I saw a fairy flower. 

Slowly I stoop to pick it, 

When lo ! to my surprise 
A wealth of heavenly beauty 

Nestles before my eyes; 
And thro' the silent forest 

Its perfume soft and rare 
Floats like a breath from heaven 

Upon the fragrant air. 

So along life's pathway 

Often we blindly go, 
Seeing only the faded leaves, 

And moss, and never know 
Until we delve beneath them 

And there bursts upon the air 
All the beauty and the fragrance 

God has hidden there. 



THE PHILOSOPHER. 

HE sees his childhood's fairy 
themes — 
Themes nurtured in the Mother- 
heart — 
Give place to youth's unhampered 
dreams 
Of vanquished foe in field and mart. 

He sees the dreams of youth dissolve 

In stern realities of strife; 
Realities from which evolve 

The ever poignant pains of Life. 

Valiant; he yet assails the height 
Enveloped in the clouds above; 

Till, Victory on his shield alight, 
He rests upon the breast of Love. 

He feels Love's warm embrace grow 
cold: 

Onward again he blindly gropes; 
His only guiding ray — his gold — 

The glitt'ring coffin of his hopes. 

And then he turns unto himself 
And asks th' eternal question : "Why?" 

Why Hope, Ambition, Power, Wealth — 
Why Love, why Life — if but to die? 

He delves within the Book of Time ; 

He cons the mold-encrusted page. 
Through every season, every clime, 

He seeks the Why from seer and sage. 

All streams of knowledge to him flow — 
The centuries' researches bring; 

Yet all he learns is but to know 
The nothingness of everything. 

Broken, he sinks beside a pool ; 

Thirsting, he bends above the rim : 
Lo ! from the crystal waters, cool. 

The mirrored Why grins up at him : 

"Wealth, Power, Love. Life— all but 

occur 
To make a fool Philosopher. 



94 



'f^W^^ 



"THE REAL THINGS." 

HE real things ! the real things ! 

That make the world worth while; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

On Time's unchanging dial ; 
Are not the fleeting follies 

We grasp and strive to hold; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

Are minted in God's mold. 

The real things ! the real things ! 

Are flowers and summer skies; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

Are babies' laughing eyes ; 
Fear, prejudice and hatred 
Are ghostly wraiths, uncouth ; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

Are courage, justice, truth. 

The real things ! the real things ! 

To each and all belong; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

The laughter, light and song; 
Sickness, pain and sorrow 

Set guidons toward the goal; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

Are heart and mind and soul. 

The real things ! the real things ! 

Are warm lips pressed to mine; 
The real things ! the real things ! 

Are life and love divine ; 
Death's dark is but a dawning — 

God's beacon light — ahoy ! 
The real things ! the real things! 

Are joy and joy and joyf 



95 



THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

THE soldier lies in the muddy bed 
Of the trenches the whole night 
long, 
He hears the song of the speeding lead. 
And knows there is death in the song. 
He fights for the flag 'til his eyes grow 
dim — 
For his country he gives his life; 
Yet our keenest sympathy's not for him. 
But goes out to the soldier's wife. 

Not for her is the battle cry 

And the fierce red joy of the fight; 
But lonely to lie with a smothered sigh 

Thro' the long, still gloom of the 
night. 
Not for her is the onward charge 

And the glory and glare of the strife; 
But to watch and wait at a lonely gate 

Is the task of the soldier's wife. 

To watch and wait with a burning 
brain — 
With her love pent up in her breast ; 
While her nerves beat wildly a dull 
refrain 
To her aching heart's unrest. 
No flag floats gayly above her head; 

She hears not the drum nor the fife; 
She watches the sun in the west sink 
red, 
And sighs — does the soldier's wife. 

So sing, if you will, of the soldier brave. 

And the glorious deeds he has done; 
Weep at the thought of a lonely grave 

'Way out 'neath the setting sun ; 
But sadder far than that strip of sod 

Is the sight of a broken life; 
So stop and send up a prayer to God — 

A prayer for the soldier's wife. 



96 



LOVE'S DWELLING. 

SHE married him for his title, 
He married her for her gold; 
'Twas a wedding of wealth and 
fashion, 
But Love stood out in the cold. 

No family tree Love boasted. 

No ducats nor jewels rare. 
His attire would be most "outre" 

'Mid the royal raiment there. 

So out in the cold Love waited, 

Out in the twilight dim — 
Where Mammon and Pedigree feasted 

There was no room for him. 

They went to live in a palace 

With turrets towered above. 
But tho' oft he knocked at the portal,. 

They were never "at home" to Love. 

Other guests were welcomed — 

Trooping in by the score, 
They jostled each other on entering, 

But brushed by Love at the door. 

There was Envy, Hatred and Malice, 

Who one by one went in, 
Followed by jaundiced Jealousy, 

Then softly by crept Sin. 

But still Love patiently waited. 

Thro' many a night and day. 
Thinking to slip in somehow 

When the stork would come that way:. 

But the stork was barred at the portal,. 

The butler "good form" stood there;. 
So, seeing his last chance vanish. 

Love gave up in despair. 

Now, near to the princely palace 
There nestled a cabin poor ; 

And Love, grown weary with waiting, , 
Softly knocked at the door. 

Now it chanced that the lowly cottage; 

Was home to a maiden sweet. 
Who welcomed the little stranger 

And gave him the chimney-seat. 

Then came a youth a-courting 
The flower of his heart's desire; 

And Love and the youth and the maiden 
Sat gathered about the fire. 



97 



The palace stands bleak and empty; 

Its ruins rise bare and lone; 
The bride and the bridegroom have van- 
ished; 

And gone — ask the winds that moan. 

O'er all hangs an awful stillness ; 

The only sound in the air 
Is the hollow fall of the footsteps 

Of the erstwhile guests on the stair. 

But over the door of the cottage 
Great clusters of roses cling, 

While ever amid the fragrance 
The voices of children ring. 

The palace stands bleak and empty, 

Alone and in ruins, but 
God's peace hangs over the hovel, 

For Love dwells still in the hut. 



THE SMILE OF A MOTHER. 

THE smile of a mother ! 
Ah ! world, in thy search 
For the "why" and the "what"— 
thy creed or thy church, 
AVhy not forever thy restlessness 
smother — 

In the smile of a mother? 

The why"?— it is there— 

You know it as well 

As your Bible-taught story of heaven 
and hell. 

The "what"?— is to be in the baby that 
lies 

At the breast of the mother — ^it*s sweet, 
sleepy eyes 

May see far beyond — baby fingers un- 
curled 

Will point in the future the way of the 
world — 

Man's world; God Himself points the 
path to the other 

In the smile of a mother. 

98 



PENNSY'S FIGHTING TENTH. 

(Air "She Was Bred in Old Kentucky.") 

THEY were bred out in the country, 
And they're thoroughbred all 
through ; 
They're the pride of Pennsylvania, 
A yard wide and all wool, too; 
They are rawboned, long and lanky, 
But each one's a blooming Yankee — 
In Pennsy's Fighting Tenth. 

They were called on by their country, 

And you bet each mother's son. 
In the time it takes to tell it, 

Shook the plow and grabbed a gun. 
Tears behind and fame before them, 
With Old Glory floating o'er them, 

Went Pennsy's Fighting Tenth. 

Went away to far Manila, 

And on that eventful night 
Of the battle of Malate, 

In the hottest of the fight, 
Where the Mausers spoke the quickest 
And the dying lay the thickest — 

Fought Pennsy's Fighting Tenth. 

Now again the news is thundered. 
Over cables 'round the world, 

That our boys in blue are struggling 
'Neath the starry flag unfurled; 

And once more the same old story — 

In the front for dear Old Glory 

Are Pennsy's Fighting Tenth. 

Boys, when all the trouble's over, 
And you come a-marching back. 

We'll tear this old State open 
In your honor — that's a fact. 

By the flag that floats above you. 

Boys, goldarn ye, we're proud of you, 

You're Pennsy's Fighting Tenth. 



A WARNING TO THE TENTH. 



Y 



OU have crossed the broad Pacific, 

Answering your country's call ; 
You have met the wily Spaniard 
And have braved the Mauser ball. 



You have chased the Philippines 
'Round the islands with a gun, 

Just the same as hunting rabbits 
In the winter time for fun. 

You have faced all kinds of fevers, 
Never flinched before a foe; 

Perhaps you've eaten canned roast beef 
And lived — for all I know. 

But these are trifles empty 

When you realize the fate 
That is waiting, watching for you 

When you pass the Golden Gate: 

A nation you'll find gathered on 
The wharf to see you land, 

And each individual atom 

Will proceed to shake your hand. 

From 'Frisco on the West coast 
To "Pennsy" in the East 

You'll have to eat and drink your way- 
One grand triumphal feast. 

And when to Pittsburgh you get back 
Once more to old West Penn, 

If you've not given up before 
I see your finish then. 

The mammas and the maidens all 

Will deluge you in tears, 
And grateful fellow citizens 

Will fill you up with beers. 

« 

Then bravely you will have to bear 

A suffering intense. 
When local orators let loose 

Their guns of eloquence. 

But, alas, for the survivors ! 

All those still drawing breath 
Will be handed over to the girls 

And Hobsonized to death. 



100 



THAT OLD-FASHIONED 
WHISTLE. 

IN his big easy rocker where mother 
has left him, 
Left him and softly tiptoed up to 
bed, 
The old man sits dozing and drowsily 
dreaming — 
Dreaming of years that have long ago 
fled. 
And as his thoughts wander back to his 
childhood. 
Back o'er the dim, hazy pathway of 
years, 
A strain soft and low of an old-fash- 
ioned measure 
Is wafted by memory back to his ears. 
'Tis just a few bars of most fantastic 
music, 
But his mouth puckers up in a sweet 
smile of joy, 
As back from the past comes that old- 
fashioned whistle — 
The whistle he whistled when he was 
a boy. 

He sees the old mill and the swimming 
hole near it 
Where at that whistle he'd slip on the 
sly; 
He remembers that tune, as it came 
thro' the twilight, 
To wake him at dawn on the Fourth 
of July. 
Now, drifting onward, he sees the old 
maple, 
Shading the home of a long ago Love, 
Where he would stop as he passed in the 
moonlight — 
(Stop 'neath a window half opened 
above). 
Then, tho' with heart in his mouth, he 
would whistle, 
And nothing on earth could his happi- 
ness cloy, 
As there came soft and low in the still- 
ness his answer — 
The whistle she whistled when he was 
a bo^r 



101 



The old man gets up from his big easy 
rocker, 
A smile on his face and his eyes 
twinkling bright, 
And as if bent on some dark depredation 
Softly opens the door and goes out in 
the night ; 
Gently he slides round beneath mother's 
window, 
Half open now, as it used to be then, 
And in the moonlight his old face he 
puckers 
And whistles that old-fashioned whis- 
tle again. 
Now holding his breath the old man 
stops and listens — 
Then his old figure shakes as he 
chuckles with joy. 
As once more he hears that dear old- 
fashioned whistle, 
The whistle she whistled when he was 
a boy. 



THE MAN WITH THE LIGHT. 

YOU ask, "Who was it in that brain 
blew out 
The light and left it as a dark- 
ened cell?" 
But what of him ! The man within 
whose brain 
The light is burning like a blazing 
hell— 
A gleaming searchlight on his inner 

self- 
Searing his soul — revealing unto him 
The awful failure of a human life. 
What of this man ! Created by God's 

grace — 
Who cannot look his fellow in the face. 
And knows that he has yet to face his 
God? 

102 



GONE! 

WHERE are the names of yester- 
day? 
'Mong the attic's treasures I 
searched last night, 
Bringing once more to the candle 
light 
Magazines, dusty and covered with 

mould — 
Some of them barely ten short years 
old; 
Yet in their pages stood many a name, 
Illum'ed by the calcium light of fame — 
Many a name that to-day's forgot — 
In the press of the present we know 
them not. 

Where will be the names of to-day? 
When a few short years have drifted 

by? 
A winter's cold, a summer's sky — 
Some dozen drinks, some scanty meals. 
While a tenth of a century past us steals, 
And when those next ten years roll 

'round, 
Where will the names of To-day be 
found? 
Yea, where will be the names of To- 
day? 
Gone — with the names of yesterday. 



D 



A GRAVE. 

ARK is the night— 

The waves dash white 

Their feathery tops of foam; 
When thro' the gloom 
The huge sides loom 
Of the Portland speeding home. 

A sudden shock — 
The wild winds mock 
The pitiful cries to save; 
A hand snow white 
Gleams once in the night, 
And the sea rolls on — a grave. 

103 



A LULLABY. 

THE moon am a climbin' an' the 
stars am a shinin', 
Hush . a-by, pickaninny, hush 
a-bye, 
Youh dady's gone a huntin' foh a cot- 
ton tail buntin', 
Hush a-bye-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 
He'll catch it, may be ; so now s;o to 
sleep ma baby, 
While youh mammy puts the 'possum 
on to fry. 
And when you wakes up, honey, you 
will hab a little bunny, 
Hush a-bye-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 

REFRAIN. 

Hush a-bye, pickaninny, hush a-bye- 
bye-bye, 
Hush a-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 
The southern sun's at rest, softly sleep 
on mammy's breast. 
Hush a-bye, pickaninny, hush a-bye. 



The tree-toad am a callin' an' the 
shadows am a fallin' — 
Hush a-bye, pickaninny, hush a-bye. 
The wind am softly sighin' and the sum- 
mer day am dyin' — 
Hush a-bye-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 
The fairies am a standin' at the dream 
ship's little landin' 
To sail with you away up in the sky, 
"Mong the winky wunks to play all the 
night 'til break o' day. 
Hush a-bye-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 

REFRAIN. 

"Hush a-bye, pickaninny, hush a-bye- 
bye-bye. 
Hush a-bye-bye, hush a-bye. 
The southern sun's at rest, softly sleep 
on mammy's breast, 
Hush a-bye, pickaninny, hush a-bye. 



104 



THE MESSENGER. 

IN mortal illness he lay trembling there, 
Noting, with aching brain and dumb 

despair, 
The feeble fluttering of his fleeting 

breath ; 
Waiting the coming of grim-visaged 
Death. 
-An awful stillness filled the darkened 

room. 
He felt Death's presence in the gathered 
gloom ; 
One moment of an agonizing fear — 
A gasp — the dreaded messenger was 
near. 
His time had come, he knew. He 

turned his head 
In terror, and lo ! there beside the bed 
His angel mother stood — upon her 

face 
A smile of heavenly peace — and from 
the place 
-She led him as a voice said "He is dead." 



TO A PAIR OF GLAD EYES. 

GLADYS GLADEYES, they have 
named you 
With your open eyes of blue, 
Gazing out in childish wonder 

On the world — ah, sweet, that you 
May forever see the sunshine 

And may never know the woe. 
That forever and forever 
Stalks about the world below. 

May your glad eyes ever glisten. 

As they do to-day, my pet, 
When 3^ou sail Life's sea of sorrow ; 

And thro' all, dear, may they yet 
Ever look with joy of childhood 

To the clouds' bright silver side — 
Ever seeing but the sunlight. 

Seeing life, love, glorified. 

105 



"O MOTHER MINE—MY OWNI"^ 

<*1\ yrOTHERLESS"— Yes!— so they 

lYl said 

A many years ago — 
When I was but a little lad — 

A lad of ten or so; 
A little happy laughing lad — 

But I recall the day 
The laughter died 'til tears dried — 

When Mother went away. 

O but the world was lonely! 

The days so long and drear — 
Just sort of missing Mother mine 

Throughout the weary year; 
Until, somehow, I seemed to sense 

A wondrous fund of love 
Enveloping me all about — 

A breath from Heaven above. 

And as I older grew I learned 

To feel her presence near ; 
To feel her watching over me — 

Trying to point the clear 
Straight path ahead; and if I failed 

To walk just as I should, 
*Twas always comforting to think 

That Mother understood. 

Then as the years wore on and life 

It's many burdens brought; 
And Mother's words and lessons passed 

Unheeded and forgot; 
In dark despair I still had faith 

That "Mother understood"— 
And everything would come right if 

I'd do the best I could. 

And so throughout the years Tve felt 

My little Mother here; 
When I've been wrong I've felt her 
frown — 

When the right I've felt the dear 
Sweet smile of love and pride and joy; 

And just some little thing — 
A kindly act or gentle word — 

A wealth of peace would bring. 

Yes ! "Motherless" — I may have seemed 

That dark day long ago ; 
But I was just a little lad — 

A lad — and didn't know 
That those we love are never lost — 

Have but gone on before 
Where they can hover over us 

And love and care the more. 



106 



Mother mine ! Where e'er you are, 
I'm still your boy to you; 

You still will be beside me when 
This earthly task is through; 

And, if you stand in the White Light 
Of God's celestial Throne — 

1 thank Him ! thank Him ! for your love, 
O Mother mine, my own ! 



J 



HARRIET. 

(Died; age, fourteen.) 

UST for a little while 

She stayed — 
Happily, cheerily; undismayed 
By sickness and pain of the mortal 

clay 
She lived in the sunlight her swift, 

sweet day; 
God, was it good to have sent her this 
way — 

Just for a little while? 

Just for a little while! 

God knows 
The way of it — why of it ; lo ! the rose 
Bloomed but its day, yet its soul still 

breathes 
Out from that rose- jar of faded 

leaves ; 
And Death but garners God's golden 
sheaves — 

Just for a little while. 

107 



GOODBYI GOODBY! 

''f> OODBY! Goodby!" 
\J^ A happy laugh. 

The words flung to the wind Hke 
chaff; 
*Tis but a parting for a day, ^ 
With buoyant hearts and spirits gay — 
A kiss, a wave, a happy cry — 
"Goodby ! Goodby !" 

"Goodby! Goodby!" 

In earnest tone — 
One of the two is left alone; 
The other out into the world 
Is going forth, his flag unfurled, 
The bitter fight of life to try — 
"Goodby ! Goodby !" 

"Goodby! Goodby!" 

The voice is low — 
A human heart is wrung with woe ; 
Death's shadow falls across a cot, 
The fight is o'er, the battle's fought, 
The words come in a breaking sigh — 
"Goodby ! Goodby !" 



LILIES GROUND THE CROSS. 

LILIES twined 'round the cross — 
The emblem of Eastern morn; 
The cross, Christ's death's in- 
signia — 
The lilies — of Christ new-born ; 
Typifying the triumph of life 

And love over Calvary's loss, 

The wakening world on Easter 

Twines lilies around the cross. 

In the wildering maze of life 

Each has his cross to bear. 
And yours may seem so heavy 

That you'd fain sink down in despair; 
But turn with a smile to the sunlight, 

Away from your trouble or loss, 
And singing, in spite of your sorrow, 

Twine lilies around your cross. 

108 



"NON HODIE, SED SEMPER." 

(In Memoriam Henry B. Hyde.) 

HE planted a seed by the wayside, 
And planted his heart in the 
seed; 
And he waited and watched its growing, 
And tended its every need. 

The sprout sprang upward and flour- 
ished, 
'Til at last did the planter see 
A mighty oak where the seed was sown. 
And his heart was the heart of the 
tree. 

Then the planter's task was finished; 

The gaunt, grim reaper spoke : 
Called his soul to his God — his clay to 
the sod. 

But his heart beats on in the oak. 



109 



THE THINGS I USED TO KNOW 

1KN0W a lot of things to-day I didn't 
use to know; 
I know the deadly currents of the 

world's dread undertow; 
I know life's bitter lessons — know 

them all from A to Z — 
Learned in life's school of sorrow — 
school of sin and misery. 
Oh ! would that I could but forget the 

great tide's ebb and flow, 
And learn again the long-forgotten 
Things I used to know, 

I used to know the valley where the 

rarest violets grew. 
The woodland where arbutus first 

peeped shyly up to view; 
I used to know a big hole where the 

chubs were sure to bite, 
The places 'long the old creek where 

the bottom was all right ; 
Where Mrs. Catbird had her nest half 

hidden in the brush ; 
The Bob-white's cheery whistle — the low 

warble of the thrush. 

I used to know the buds and birds, the 

rocks and woods and trees; 
The way to find the honey-hoarded 

storehouse of the bees; 
I used to know each sylvan nook, each 

dainty flower that grew — 
But sweeter, dearer far than all the 

other things I knew 
Was that, no matter where about the 

fields I chanced to roam, 
I knew my little Mother's face would 

smile a welcome home. 

I know a lot of things to-day I would I 

never knew ; 
I know my little Mother's gone beyond 
the heaven's blue — 
I know the world, man's world, too 
well — 'twas God's world I knew 
then — 
God's world that I've forgotten — now 
I know my f ellowmen ; 
And oh ! I would I could forget — forget 

it all and go 
Back to God's world and learn again 
The things I used to know. 



110 



GOSHEN, 

'T^AINT just what you'd call a 
I tusslin', rustlin', bustlin', busy 

town; 
Fact is folks find time occasion'ly to stop 

hustlin' and set down. 
Walkin' fast's a misde-meanor. Don't 

believe it? — ask "Judge"! — 
What's the use o' bein winded 'less you 

owe yourself a grudge? 
Better rest than be arrested; take things 

easy — don't use Force; 
Long as you get yours — be happy; leave 

the "get up" to the horse. 

There's some horses ! — reg'lar horses ; 

not "near" horses, but all there; 
And there's roses ! — reg'lar roses — roses, 

roses everywhere; 
And there's children ! — reg'lar children — 

babies, three-year-olds and "kids" ; 
Real ones ! — rompin', fightin', fishin', 

swimmin', baseball playin' kids; 
Kind-o'-kids-we-use-to-be-ones ; maybe 

(?) if you say it quick — 
And there's sunshine, love and laughter, 

and good-fellowship spread thick. 

Here's to you ! — little town o' Goshen ! — 

where the "old band" 's playin' 

yet : — 
Where there's monuments to m.emories 

none of use will e'er forget : — 
Heroes ! — yes, by gosh ; and horses ! — 

monuments of good ones gone ; — 
And, what's better still, you're raisin* 

stock to build som.e more upon. 
Let the Jugger-naut o' Progress rumble 

on some other place — 
Just you set among your roses — let the 

others set the pace. 

With a Past that you are proud of, and 

a Present you enjoy: — 
And a Future growin' round you in each 

laughin' girl and boy; — 
Dear old town you stand a haven 'mid 

the Chaos of the Fight; — 
Here's a bumper to you, Goshen ! HOCK 

der Kaiser ! — Gesundheit ! 



Ill 



LITTLE GIRLS O' GOSHEN! 

LITTLE girls o' Goshen ! 
Here's health and wealth to you I 
With your big wide wond'ring eyes 
o' brown 
And laughing eyes o' blue. 
God bless your little fairy feet 
And heads o' black or tow ! 
May all your way be holiday 
Mid blooms o' golden-glow ! 

May Life be all a Summer-time, 

And all the journey through 
May Love and Joy dance hand in hand 

A rosey-ring with you ; 
Here's to you ! little women-folk 

With eyes o' blue or brown ! 
The mothers of the men to be — 

O girls o' Goshen town. 



OLD AGE. 

OLD AGE ! with what a lean and 
ghostly finger 
You seem to beckon others — 
those who fear 
Thy coming; those who in Life's spring 
would linger, 
Who dread the passing of each fading 
year. 

Old Age! for me you beckon thro* the 
gloaming, 
A smile of welcome on your dear old' 
face. 
After the weary years to come a homing. 
And find within your peace a resting- 
place. 

Just let me live the years yet intervening;. 
Give me to garner such a store of love 

Within me that I, here, may grasp the 
meaning 
Of love celestial in a realm above. 

Greeting the morning-star of Life's to- 
morrow, 
Grant that I may have left beside the 
way 
All erstwhile shadowing wraiths of sin 
and sorrow; 
See but the dawning of the brighter 
day. 

Old Age ! so crown my life that Death's 
awaking 
And transformation may seem but to- 
be 
A flood of joy, from my full heart out- 
breaking, 
Bearing my soul into Eternity. 

112 



OLD WINE! OLD CLOTHESI 
OLD FRIENDS! 

(A Toast.) 

OLD Wine ! 
Within your depths, old wine, 
Lurk all life's mysteries divine; 
Potent, before our raptured eyes. 
In unveiled radiance to rise — 
The secrets of our souls are thine ! 

Old wine. 

Old Clothes! 

In what complete repose 
We lounge around in you, old clothes ; 
Long since you've found our salient 

points — 
Soothed in soft folds rheumatic 
joints — 
Our gauntness kept "beneath the rose" ! 

Old clothes. 

Old Friends ! 

On you, of all, old friends 
Life's substance and life's salt depends ; 
Comrades through all the wearying 

fight- 
Hands grasped to greet th' oncoming; 
night ; 
God grant us as our journey ends — 

Old friends^ 

To one of Time's choicest, mellowest 

blends — 
Old wine! Old clothes! Old friends'. 



A CLOWN TO HIS DOG. 1 

A CLOWN may joke, and the crowd 
may laugh, 

(Even as you and I.) 
And neither may understand, by half. 
How much of it's wheat and how much 
of it's chaff 

(Even as you and I.) 

But it's work of our brains or work of 
our hands — 

Or at least a laugh— that the World de- 
mands ; 

The World doesn't know — but the heart 
understands ! 

(Even as you and I.) 

113 



SPRING. 

A LIFE seemed broken, and fair 
Hope lay dead — 
Entombed deep in the dark crypt 
of a heart 
Turned to dull stone within an aching 

breast : 
All soul-songs hushed — e'en God a thing 
apart. 

The winter wind soughed thro' the leaf- 
less trees; 
The grey clouds hung low o'er the 
frozen earth 
Wherein the secret alchemy of Life 
Wrought out the mystery of Death 
and Birth. 

And then, O Spring! thy sunshine 
warmed the heart; 
Brought back to life fair Hope with 
all her dreams ; 
Once more are heard the soul-songs, 
softly sung, 
J'rom feathered throat and thy unfet- 
tered streams. 

The south winds came. The dainty 
flowers spring up ! 
Soft fleecy clouds float in the blue 
above ; 
O, Man ! what more do you require to 
prove 
The Life Eternal and God's wondrous 
love? 



114 



THE MEN BEHIND. 

SING me a song of the great Un- 
known — 
A Song of the unknown Great! 
Who are fighting the fight for the Fight 

alone — 
Who strive for the Right and the Right 
alone — 
Nor bend 'neath the burden's weight. 
The poor and the helpless ! they know 
full well 
The helpers who help Mankind 
Are not those who in the limelight dwell, 
But the quiet, cool men behind. 

Sing me a song of the Voices' still — 

The Ones who have gone before ! 
Who led the rough riders up San Juan 

hill? 
Ham Fish ! They got him ! and his voice 

is nil 
On earth, forever more. 
And a voice, also quiet, from the tomb 

of Grant 
Speaks — while the Rabble for noises pant, 
As the Rabble always will. 

Sing me a song of the Good Ones gone ! 

And a song of the men behind 
Who are giving their brains, if not their 

brawn, 
To the work of the world and the com- 
ing dawn 
Of Supremacy of Mind. 
A song of the men who work unknown 

For their Nation and their State — 
Who work, or fight, for the Truth and 
the Right— 
A song of the unknown Great. 



lis 



AS AGE CREEPS ON. 

AS age creeps on may I in calm con- 
tent 
Review the years and feel, though 
all ill spent, 
They were complete; not lost one 

hour nor day. 
Something each brought of life to 
mark the way — 
Something Remembrance brings of love 
long lent. 

Perhaps the tree grew as the twig was 
bent ; 
Perhaps 'twas all done with a full in- 
tent; 
My Star perhaps will point the easier 
way— 

As age creeps on. 

E'en if I could would I the moments 

stay? 
Would I turn back one single hour? 
Nay! 
Life has been sweet — shadows with sun- 
shine blent — 
Sorrows, like thistledown, soft sailing 

went; 
Let me but live with Love in calm con- 
tent 

As age creeps on. 



DOCTOR BULL. 

(Paraphrased from "On the Defeat of 
a Great Man" by William Wilberforcc 
Lord.) 

GONE? How gone? A great soul 
never goes; 
The grave receives its dead. 
The body goes, decays, returns to dust; 
Becomes again the diatoms it was : 

A great soul never goes. 
It stays ! in form divine it serves su- 
preme ; 
They go who have not been — 
They go from nothing here to nothing 
There : 
They go and are forgot. 

O ye of little faith ! a great God-soul 
Is its own being — born not — cannot die: 

It was and ever is. 
As in the heaven above the sun stands 

fixed, 
And on the earth doth throw 
Its light and warmth, so will his great 
God-soul 
Give life and love through all Eternity. 

116 



DEATH VICTORIOUS. 

PRONE on his couch the pallid war- 
rior lies; 
Life's battle's lost! dim in the 
fading light 
Pass in review before his film-sheathed 
eyes 
The tattered ensigns of each hard- 
fought fight. 

With silent drums Hope's beaten hosts 
file by ; 
Their arms, once bright, now broken — 
red with rust. 
Above their serried ranks no pennons 
fly- 
Furled flags and dead ideals lie in the 
dust. 

Slow flutters forth his last low feeble 
breath ; 
His valiant soul, unconquered still, 
breaks free; 
And in the van Life's victor — Glorious 
Death- 
Flings out the Banner of the Strife- 
to-be. 



117 



LOVE'S GARDEN. 

YOU ask me, dear, to love but you; 
How can I, when my fool old" 
heart 
Is full of other loves — still true 
To each and all, tho' long years part? 

Yet what are years to love, Nanette? 

And what is love till proved by years 
To be a thing we can't forget, 

Nor wash away with futile tears? 

Love is a living, lasting thing; 

Each particle but rounds the whole; 
Let all the loves that Life may bring 

Bloom in the garden of your SouL 



118 



A 



JUST A WORD. 

DAINTY rose diffusing 
Its perfume soft and rare 

Imbues with heaven's fragrance 
The cold and empty air. 

So just a word of kindness 

Will oftentimes impart 
A gleaip of heavenly happiness 
To some sad empty heart. 



119 



Richmond Press Co. 
New York. 



DEC 14 1911 



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